#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
My Garden—like the Beach— Denotes there be—a Sea— That’s Summer— Such as These—the Pearls She fetches—such as Me
508 I’m ceded—I’ve stopped being Thei… The name They dropped upon my fac… With water, in the country church Is finished using, now,
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—
