#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
93 Went up a year this evening! I recollect it well! Amid no bells nor bravoes The bystanders will tell!
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
270 One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I—for it—would pay— My Soul’s entire income— In ceaseless—salary—
908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—
877 Each Scar I’ll keep for Him Instead I’ll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme
An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is di… To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
