#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—
949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,
770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus
749 All but Death, can be Adjusted— Dynasties repaired— Systems—settled in their Sockets— Citadels—dissolved—
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold
453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—
