#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
544 The Martyr Poets—did not tell— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate—encourage Some—
151 Mute thy Coronation— Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir,
473 I am ashamed’—I hide’— What right have I’—to be a Bride’… So late a Dowerless Girl’— Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face’—
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
