#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
892 Who occupies this House? A Stranger I must judge Since No one know His Circumstan… ’Tis well the name and age
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
