#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
408 Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him—
202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
