#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
756 One Blessing had I than the rest So larger to my Eyes That I stopped gauging—satisfied— For this enchanted size—
408 Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him—
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
