#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
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…
408 Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him—
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–
‘Faith’ is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see’— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
