#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,
693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—
289 I know some lonely Houses off the… A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low,
STEP lightly on this narrow spot… The broadest land that grows Is not so ample as the breast These emerald seams enclose. Step lofty; for this name is told
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
230 We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing… ’Tisn’t all Hock—with us— Life has its Ale— But it’s many a lay of the Dim Bu…
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!
195 For this—accepted Breath— Through it—compete with Death— The fellow cannot touch this Crow… By it—my title take—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.