#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
This quiet dust was gentlemen and… And lads and girls; Was laughter and ability and sighi… And frocks and curls; This passive place a summer’s nimb…
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
