#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
502 At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere—
188 Make me a picture of the sun— So I can hang it in my room— And make believe I’m getting warm When others call it “Day”!
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
621 I asked no other thing— No other—was denied— I offered Being—for it— The Mighty Merchant sneered—
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
120 If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—
