#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh
577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—
XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
735 Upon Concluded Lives There’s nothing cooler falls— Than Life’s sweet Calculations— The mixing Bells and Palls—
