#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
One need not be a chamber to be ha… One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place. Far safer, of a midnight meeting
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
