#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
797 By my Window have I for Scenery Just a Sea—with a Stem— If the Bird and the Farmer—deem i… The Opinion will serve—for them—
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June
“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…
Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
