#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
120 If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
