#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—
My life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
