#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.
A door just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I,
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee - When a Lover is an Owner Different is he - What he begged is then the Beggar…
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—