#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
667 Bloom upon the Mountain—stated— Blameless of a Name— Efflorescence of a Sunset— Reproduced—the same—
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
I SHOULD have been too glad, I… Too lifted for the scant degree Of life’s penurious round; My little circuit would have shame… This new circumference, have blame…
XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair
534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—
537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
