Category Emily Dickinson

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid – This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said –

When they come back – if Blossoms do – I always feel a doubt If Blossoms can be born again When once the Art is out – When they begin, if Robins may, I always had a fear I did…

When we have ceased to care The Gift is given For which we gave the Earth And mortgaged Heaven But so declined in worth ‘Tis ignominy now To look upon –

Where every Bird is bold to go And Bees abashless play The Foreigner before he knocks Must thrust the Tears away –

Where I am not afraid to go I may confide my Flower – Who was not Enemy of Me Will gentle be, to Her – Nor separate, Herself and Me By Distances become – A single Bloom we constitute Departed,…

Where Roses would not dare to go, What Heart would risk the way, And so I send my Crimson Scouts To test the Enemy –

Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered – Safer not to know – Miseries of conjecture Are a softer wo Than a Fact of Iron Hardened with I know –

Which is the best – the Moon or the Crescent? Neither – said the Moon – That is best which is not – Achieve it – You efface the Sheen. Not of detention is Fruition – Shudder to attain. Transport’s…

Which misses most – The hand that tends Or heart so gently borne, ‘Tis twice as heavy as it was Because the hand is gone? Which blesses most The lip that can, Or that that went to sleep With “if…

While we were fearing it, it came – But came with less of fear Because that fearing it so long Had almost made it fair – There is a Fitting – a Dismay – A Fitting – a Despair ‘Tis…