Whose Pink career may have a close

I made the Taper shine—Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,Regard a Nun—Thou knowest every Woe—Needless to tell thee—so—But can’st thou doThe Grace next to it—heal?That looks a harder skill to us—Still—just as easy, if it be thy WillTo thee—Grant me—Thou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?

We are far too grand—But we bolt the door tightTo prevent a friend—Then we hide our brave faceDeep in our hand—Not to cry—Tim and I—We are far too grand—Nor to dream—he and me—Do we condescend—We just shut our brown eyeTo see to the end—Tim—see Cottages—But, Oh, so high!Then—we shake—Tim and I—And lest I—cry—Tim—reads a little…

Preferred against the MindBy—Paradox—the Mind itself—Presuming it to leadQuite Opposite—How ComplicateThe Discipline of Man—Compelling Him to Choose HimselfHis Preappointed Pain—

Like hindered rubies, or the light,A sudden musket spills.The purple could not keep the east.The sunrise shook from fold.Like breadths of topaz, packed a night,The lady just unrolled.The happy winds their timbrels took;The birds in docile rows,Arranged themselves around their prince.(The wind is prince of those.)The orchard sparkled like a Jew,—How mighty ’twas to stay,A…

Myself—a MillionaireIn little Wealths, as Girls could boastTill broad as Buenos Ayre—You drifted your Dominions—A Different Peru—And I esteemed All PovertyFor Life’s Estate with you—Of Mines, I little know—myself—But just the names, of Gems—The Colors of the Commonest—And scarce of Diadems—So much, that did I meet the Queen—Her Glory I should know—But this, must be…

Because I know it’s true—Men do not sham Convulsion,Nor simulate, a Throe—The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death—Impossible to feignThe Beads upon the ForeheadBy homely Anguish strung.