#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
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
770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
118 My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist!
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
599 There is a pain—so utter— It swallows substance up— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
