Category Emily Dickinson

The Clock strikes one that just struck two — Some schism in the Sum — A Vagabond for Genesis Has wrecked the Pendulum —

Pursuing you in your transitions, In other Motes — Of other Myths Your requisition be. The Prism never held the Hues, It only heard them play —

Power is a familiar growth — Not foreign — not to be — Beside us like a bland Abyss In every company — Escape it — there is but a chance — When consciousness and clay Lean forward for a…

Its Hour with itself The Spirit never shows. What Terror would enthrall the Street Could Countenance disclose The Subterranean Freight The Cellars of the Soul — Thank God the loudest Place he made Is licensed to be still.

Is Immortality a bane That men are so oppressed?

Is Heaven a Physician? They say that He can heal — But Medicine Posthumous Is unavailable — Is Heaven an Exchequer? They speak of what we owe — But that negotiation I’m not a Party to —

If He dissolve — then — there is nothing — more — Eclipse — at Midnight — It was dark — before — Sunset — at Easter — Blindness — on the Dawn — Faint Star of Bethlehem — Gone…

Take all away — The only thing worth larceny Is left — the Immortality —

The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place — Its place is in the Human Heart And in the Heavenly Grace — What respite from her thrilling toil Did Beauty ever take — But Work might…

The Bird did prance — the Bee did play — The Sun ran miles away So blind with joy he could not choose Between his Holiday The morn was up — the meadows out The Fences all but ran, Republic…