#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets– Crows– and Retros… And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming -
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
755 No Bobolink—reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be—
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
