#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
796 Who Giants know, with lesser Men Are incomplete, and shy— For Greatness, that is ill at eas… In minor Company—
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
72 Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak.
