#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.
751 My Worthiness is all my Doubt— His Merit—all my fear— Contrasting which, my quality Do lowlier—appear—
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
391 A Visitor in Marl— Who influences Flowers— Till they are orderly as Busts— And Elegant—as Glass—
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—
517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
591 To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere— And even when the Snow
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
