#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—