#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—
XXII I GAVE myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way.
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference.
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
