#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
The Snow that never drifts - The transient, fragrant snow That comes a single time a Year Is softly driving now - So thorough in the Tree
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
1000 The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.”
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—
LXV GOOD night! which put the candle… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick
