Category Emily Dickinson

I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify— I think the Heart I former wore Could widen—till to me The Other, like the little Bank Appear—unto the…

I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time Indignant—that the Joy was come— Did block the Gilded Hands— And would not let…

I think the Hemlock likes to stand Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe That men, must slake in Wilderness— And in the Desert—cloy— An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald— Lapland’s—necessity— The…

I think just how my shape will rise— When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head— Are out of sight—in Heaven— I think just how my lips will weigh— With shapeless—quivering—prayer— That you—so late—”Consider” me— The “Sparrow” of…

I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful— And whether it was noon at night— Or only Heaven—at Noon— For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell—…

I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams— Geraniums—tint—and spot— Low Daisies—dot— My Cactus—splits her Beard To show her throat— Carnations—tip their spice— And Bees—pick up— A Hyacinth—I hid— Puts out a Ruffled…

I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,– This gave me that precarious gait Some…