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Category Emily Dickinson

We turn not older with years, but newer every day.

The lonesome for they know not What

The lonesome for they know not What— The Eastern Exiles—be— Who strayed beyond the Amber line Some madder Holiday— And ever since—the purple Moat They strive to climb—in vain— As Birds—that tumble from the clouds Do fumble at the strain—…

The Loneliness One dare not sound

The Loneliness One dare not sound— And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size— The Loneliness whose worst alarm Is lest itself should see— And perish from before itself For just a scrutiny—…

The Lightning playeth—all the while

The Lightning playeth—all the while— But when He singeth—then— Ourselves are conscious He exist— And we approach Him—stern— With Insulators—and a Glove— Whose short—sepulchral Bass Alarms us—tho’ His Yellow feet May pass—and counterpass— Upon the Ropes—above our Head— Continual—with the…

The last Night that She lived

The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different We noticed smallest things— Things overlooked before By this great light upon our Minds Italicized—as ’twere. As We went out and…

The Lamp burns sure—within

The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil! The Slave—forgets—to fill— The Lamp—burns golden—on— Unconscious that the oil is out— As that the Slave—is gone.

The Lady feeds Her little Bird

The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize The Gulf between the Hand and Her And crumbless and afar And fainting, on Her yellow Knee Fall softly, and adore—

The Judge is like the Owl

The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill— That slanted in my Path— When going to the Barn— And if it serve You for a House—…

The Hollows round His eager Eyes

The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained. Biography to All who passed Of Unobtrusive Pain Except for the italic Face Endured, unhelped—unknown.