#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—
578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,
949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,
Tell all the Truth but tell it sl… Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth’s superb surprise As Lightning to the Children ease…
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
430 It would never be Common—more—I s… Difference—had begun— Many a bitterness—had been— But that old sort—was done—
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
68 Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
116 I had some things that I called m… And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities.
591 To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere— And even when the Snow
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
