#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken
626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
