#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights—burned t… At Bases of the Trees— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting—to These—
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
915 Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—
LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
I counted till they danced so Their slippers leaped the town, And then I took a pencil To note the rebels down. And then they grew so jolly
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
126 To fight aloud, is very brave— But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom The Cavalry of Woe—
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
