Category Emily Dickinson

The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.

The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none— But Miles of Sparks—at Evening— Reveal the Width that burned— The Territory Argent—that Never yet—consumed—

The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy. My flowers turn from Forums— Yet eloquent declare What Cato couldn’t prove me Except the birds were here!

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, And, supercilious, peer In shanties by the sides of roads; And…

The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themselves— The Science of the Grave No Man can understand But He that hath endured The Dissolution—in Himself— That Man—be qualified To qualify Despair To Those…

The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place— Of This—Could Man deprive Me— Himself—the Heaven excel— Whose invitation—Yours reduced Until it showed too small—

The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns— Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference—

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— ‘Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood— The fine—unvarying Axis That regulates the Wheel— Though Spokes—spin—more conspicuous And fling a dust—the while. The Inner—paints the Outer— The Brush without the…

The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see— Tomorrow and Today— Perchance Eternity— The Only One I meet Is God—The Only Street— Existence—This traversed If Other News there be— Or Admirable Show—…