#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
716 The Day undressed—Herself— Her Garter—was of Gold— Her Petticoat—of Purple plain— Her Dimities—as old
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,
604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured…
923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
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
377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—
