#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
711 Strong Draughts of Their Refresh… To drink—enables Mine Through Desert or the Wilderness As bore it Sealed Wine—
September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets– Crows– and Retros… And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming -
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
To see her is a Picture— To hear her is a Tune— To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June— To know her not—Affliction—
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
