#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.
720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host
604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!