#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
135 Water, is taught by thirst. Land—by the Oceans passed. Transport—by throe— Peace—by its battles told—
238 Kill your Balm—and its Odors bles… Bare your Jessamine—to the storm— And she will fling her maddest per… Haply—your Summer night to Charm—
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,
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
CXI A DOOR just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company.
726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—
643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—
Part Five: The Single Hound XLIX The duties of the Wind are few— To cast the ships, at Sea, Establish March, the Floods escor…
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
