#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—
512 The Soul has Bandaged moments— When too appalled to stir— She feels some ghastly Fright com… And stop to look at her—
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
816 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.
138 Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie—
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,
LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—