#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
351 I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there— I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler—
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
