#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
