#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
621 I asked no other thing— No other—was denied— I offered Being—for it— The Mighty Merchant sneered—
923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—
Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
752 So the Eyes accost—and sunder In an Audience— Stamped—occasionally—forever— So may Countenance
‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—
I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—