#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—
351 I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there— I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler—
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks
769 One and One—are One— Two—be finished using— Well enough for schools— But for minor Choosing—
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
41 I robbed the Woods— The trusting Woods. The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses
223 I Came to buy a smile—today— But just a single smile— The smallest one upon your face Will suit me just as well—
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
