#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?
746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men
By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—
‘Faith’ is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see’— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
