#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
926 Patience—has a quiet Outer— Patience—Look within— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites—between—
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
508 I’m ceded—I’ve stopped being Thei… The name They dropped upon my fac… With water, in the country church Is finished using, now,
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—
331 While Asters— On the Hill— Their Everlasting fashions—set— And Covenant Gentians—Frill!
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
