#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
826 Love reckons by itself—alone— “As large as I”—relate the Sun To One who never felt it blaze— Itself is all the like it has—
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
260 Read—Sweet—how others—strove— Till we—are stouter— What they—renounced— Till we—are less afraid—
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
