#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
