#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—
857 Uncertain lease—develops lustre On Time Uncertain Grasp, appreciation Of Sum—
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—
878 The Sun is gay or stark According to our Deed. If Merry, He is merrier— If eager for the Dead
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
