#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!
485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
187 How many times these low feet stag… Only the soldered mouth can tell— Try—can you stir the awful rivet— Try—can you lift the hasps of stee…
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
553 One Crucifixion is recorded—only— How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics— Or History—
820 All Circumstances are the Frame In which His Face is set— All Latitudes exist for His Sufficient Continent—
