Poetessa, nato venerdì 10 dicembre 1830 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America), morto sabato 15 maggio 1886 a Amherst, Massachusetts (USA - Stati Uniti d'America)
A Field of Stubble, lying sere Beneath the second Sun - It's Toils to Brindled People thrust - It's Triumphs - to the Bin - Accosted by a timid Bird Irresolute of Alms - Is often seen - but seldom felt, On our New England Farms.
Bees are Black - with Gilt Surcingles - Buccaneers of Buzz - Ride abroad in ostentation And subsist on Fuzz - Fuzz ordained - not Fuzz contingent - Marrows of the Hill. Jugs - a Universe's fracture Could not jar or spill.
March is the Month of Expectation. The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness - But pompous Joy Betrays us, as his first Betrothal Betrays a Boy.
How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom Keeps making November difficult Till I who was almost bold Lose my way like a little Child And perish of the cold.
Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually His Suit a chance His Troth a Term Protracted as the Breeze Continual Ban propoundeth He Continual Divorce.
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and it's Auxiliaries Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned Had I secured the Glow In an Hermetic Memory It had availed me now -
Never to pass the Angel With a glance and a Bow Till I am firm in Heaven Is my intention now.