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Document | Max. Freq | Min. Freq | ||
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays | 16 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Frank Preston Stearns, Cambridge Sketches | 12 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall) | 8 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Olde Cambridge | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 2. | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Book and heart: essays on literature and life | 4 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli | 4 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Henry Walcott Boynton, Reader's History of American Literature | 4 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing) | 3 | 1 | Browse | Search |
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Browsing named entities in Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing). You can also browse the collection for Maria White or search for Maria White in all documents.
Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), V. Conversations in Boston . (search)
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 12 (search)
Ix> homeward.
W. H. Channing.
Last, having thus revealed all I could love And having received all love bestowed on it, I would die: so preserving through my course God full on me, as I was full on men: And He would grant my prayer—‘I have gone through All loveliness of life; make more for me, If not for men,—or take me to Thyself, Eternal, Infinite Love!’ Browning.
Till another open for me In God's Eden-land unknown, With an angel at the doorway, White with gazing at His Throne; And a saint's voice in the palm-trees, singing,—‘all is lost, and won.’ Elizabeth Barrett.
La ne venimmo: e lo scaglion primaio Bianco marmo éra si pulito e terso, Ch‘ io mi specchiava in esso, qual io paio Era'l secondo tinto, piu che perso, D'una petrina ruvida ed arsiccia, Crepata per lo lungo e per traverse. Lo terzo, che di sopra s'ammassiccia, Porfido mi parea si fiammegiante, Come sangue che fuor di vena spiccia. Sopra questa teneva ambo le piante L'angel di Dio, sedendo in