#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
944 I learned—at least—what Home coul… How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant— How awkward at the Hymn
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—