#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
420 You’ll know it—as you know ’tis N… By Glory— As you do the Sun— By Glory—
‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
59 A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard—
