Category Emily Dickinson

Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet With Artery and Vein — Upon its fastened Lips lay words — Affiance it again To that Pink stranger we call Dust — Acquainted more with that Than with this horizontal one…

Oh Future! thou secreted peace Or subterranean woe — Is there no wandering route of grace That leads away from thee — No circuit sage of all the course Descried by cunning Men To balk thee of thy sacred Prey…

Of Yellow was the outer Sky In Yellower Yellow hewn Till Saffron in Vermilion slid Whose seam could not be shewn.

Of whom so dear The name to hear Illumines with a Glow As intimate — as fugitive As Sunset on the snow —

Of this is Day composed A morning and a noon A Revelry unspeakable And then a gay unknown Whose Pomps allure and spurn And dower and deprive And penury for Glory Remedilessly leave.

Of their peculiar light I keep one ray To clarify the Sight To seek them by —

Of the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door Shall the Playfellow Heart complain Though the Ring is unwhole, and the Company broke Can never be fitted again?

Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.

Of Paul and Silas it is said There were in Prison laid But when they went to take them out They were not there instead. Security the same insures To our assaulted Minds — The staple must be optional That…

Of Paradise’ existence All we know Is the uncertain certainty — But its vicinity infer, By its Bisecting Messenger —