#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority
550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
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,
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.
19 A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn— A flask of Dew—A Bee or two— A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
