#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude
970 Color — Caste — Denomination — These — are Time's Affair — Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are —
331 While Asters— On the Hill— Their Everlasting fashions—set— And Covenant Gentians—Frill!
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
A little Dog that wags his tail And knows no other joy Of such a little Dog am I Reminded by a Boy Who gambols all the living Day
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
