#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
918 Only a Shrine, but Mine— I made the Taper shine— Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may… Regard a Nun—
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too - And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower,
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—
713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
296 One Year ago—jots what? God—spell the word! I—can’t— Was’t Grace? Not that— Was’t Glory? That—will do—
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
