#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
848 Just as He spoke it from his Hand… This Edifice remain— A Turret more, a Turret less Dishonor his Design—
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
Judgment is justest When the Judged, His action laid away, Divested is of every Disk But his sincerity.
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
880 The Bird must sing to earn the Cr… What merit have the Tune No Breakfast if it guaranty The Rose content may bloom
Part One: Life LI IT tossed and tossed,— A little brig I knew,— O’ertook by blast,
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—
