#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—