#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
425 Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in mechlin,—so; He wore no sandal on his foot, And stepped like flakes of snow. His gait was soundless, like the b…
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
