#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
823 Not that We did, shall be the tes… When Act and Will are done But what Our Lord infers We woul… Had We diviner been—
329 So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem ’Twas sorry, that we were— For where the Holiday should be There publishes a Tear—
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—
840 I cannot buy it—’tis not sold— There is no other in the World— Mine was the only one I was so happy I forgot
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
208 The Rose did caper on her cheek— Her Bodice rose and fell— Her pretty speech—like drunken men… Did stagger pitiful—
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
667 Bloom upon the Mountain—stated— Blameless of a Name— Efflorescence of a Sunset— Reproduced—the same—
944 I learned—at least—what Home coul… How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant— How awkward at the Hymn
Proud of my broken heart, since th… Proud of the pain, I did not feel… Proud of my night, since thou, wit… Not to partake thy passion, –my hu… Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus…
