#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—
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…
632 The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and You—beside—
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…
