#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—
How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
