#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
391 A Visitor in Marl— Who influences Flowers— Till they are orderly as Busts— And Elegant—as Glass—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,
770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—
