#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have
How slow the Wind - how slow the sea - how late their Fathers be!
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
Image of Light, Adieu - Thanks for the interview - So long– so short – Preceptor of the whole - Coeval Cardinal -
270 One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I—for it—would pay— My Soul’s entire income— In ceaseless—salary—
Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
