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Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.
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Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag to-day Can tell the definition So clear of victory, As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear.
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The Truth never flaunted a sign.
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I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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The Heart is the Capital of the Mind— The Mind is a single State— The Heart and the Mind together make A single Continent— One—is the Population— Numerous enough— This ecstatic Nation Seek—it is Yourself.
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I'll tell you how the Sun rose.
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I hope you're very careful working, eating and drinking when the heat is so great--there are temptations there which at home you are free from--beware the juicy fruits, and the cooling ades, and cordials, and do not eat ice-cream, it is so very dangerous.
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I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth, the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.
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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.
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I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.