#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
427 I’ll clutch—and clutch— Next—One—Might be the golden touc… Could take it— Diamonds—Wait—
985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—
48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—
345 Funny—to be a Century— And see the People—going by— I—should die of the Oddity— But then—I’m not so staid—as He—
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
911 Too little way the House must lie From every Human Heart That holds in undisputed Lease A white inhabitant—
557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—