#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
336 The face I carry with me—last— When I go out of Time— To take my Rank—by—in the West— That face—will just be thine—
469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—
570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—
457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—