#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill.
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!