#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -
CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
226 Should you but fail at—Sea— In sight of me— Or doomed lie— Next Sun—to die—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
