#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
232 The Sun—just touched the Morning— The Morning—Happy thing— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
