#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—
315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday
