#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
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…
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
43 Could live—did live— Could die—did die— Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not,
