#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
636 The Way I read a Letter’s—this— ’Tis first—I lock the Door— And push it with my fingers—next— For transport it be sure—
She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
