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houses and rooms are full of perfumes the shelves are crowded with perfumes i breath the fragrance myself and know it and like it the distillation would intoxicate me also but i shall not let it. the atmosphere is not a perfume it has no taste of the distillation it is odorless , i am in love with it |
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Walt Whitman Song of Myself |
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i kept the first for another day yet knowing how weighing these are the way |
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the road not taken Robert Frost |
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for heft them pound for pound and they will differ if they do as syllable from sound |
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Emily Dickinson The Brain is Wider Than the Sky |
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then a strange and awful change in her husband's manner and she dare not ask him to explain it he spoke to her it was with aver bid eyes |
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Desiree's Baby Kate Chopin |
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he obsided himself from home and with there anointed her presence and that of her child without excuse |
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Desiree's Baby Kate Chopin |
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it was indeed a glad and gracious time and a half dozen rash spirits adventured to disprove |
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Mark Twain the war prayer |
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have you practiced so long to learn to read have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems stock this day and night with me and you shall poses the origin of all poems |
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Walt whitman song of myself |
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he thought almighty god had dealt cruelly and unjustly with them and felt somehow that he was paying him back in kind when he stabbed thus into his wife's soul |
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Kate chopin Desiree's baby |
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why i thought that is i meant why you can't imagine any trouble I've never heard you sigh and never seen your eye when there was no laugh in it |
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you will hardly know who i am or what i mean but i shall be good help to you never the less and filter fiber your blood |
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Walt Whitman Song of Myself |
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what could love the unsolved mystery count for in face of this possession and self assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being |
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Kate Chopin The Story of an Hour |
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and then the windows failed and then i could not see to see |
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Emily Dickinson I heard a Fly buzz when i died |
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while waiting to be served she removed her glove and layer them beside her |
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Kate Chopin A Pair of Silk Stockings |
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we paused before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground, the roof was scarcely visible |
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Emily Dickinson Because i could not stop for death |
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the simple news that nature told with tender majesty her message is committed to hands i cannot see for love of her sweet country men |
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Emily Dickinson This Is My Letter To The World |
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he moves in darkness as it seems to me not of woods only in the shade of trees he will not go behind his fathers saying |
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robert frost mending wall |
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tis the majority in this as all prevailed assent and you are sane |
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Emily Dickinson Much Madness is divinest sense |
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i am the poet of the body and the poet of the soul the pleasers of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with thee |
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Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass |
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o western orb sailing the heaven now i know what you must have meant, as a month since we walked , as we walked up and down in the dark blue so mystic As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, |
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Walt Whitman When lilacs last at the door yard bloom |
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i cease from my song for thee for my gaze on thee in the west fronting the west communing with thee o comrade lustrous with silver face in the night |
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Walt Whitman When lilacs last at the door yard bloom |
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he gives his harness bells a shake |
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Stopping by Woods on A Snowy Evening Robert Frost |
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i am overtired of the great harvest i myself desired they were 10,000 |
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after apple picking Robert Frost |
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i cannot shake the shimmer from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass |
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after apple picking Robert frost |
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id like to get away from earth awhile and then come back to it and begin over |
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the woods around it have it , it is theirs all animals are smothered in their lairs |
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Robert Frost Desert Places |
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They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars, on stars where no human race is |
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Robert Frost Dessert places |
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when lilacs last at the door yard bloom |
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my life closed twice before it closed |
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because death did not stop for me |
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I felt a funeral in my brain |
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I like to see it lap the miles |
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After great pain a formal feelings comes |
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stopping by woods on a snowy evening |
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