#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
188 Make me a picture of the sun— So I can hang it in my room— And make believe I’m getting warm When others call it “Day”!
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—
49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
