#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
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—
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
