Category Emily Dickinson

Did life’s penurious length Italicize it’s sweetness, The men that daily live Would stand so deep in joy That it would clog the cogs Of that revolving reason Whose esoteric belt Protects our sanity.

Dew – is the Freshet in the Grass – ‘Tis many a tiny Mill Turns unperceived beneath our feet And Artisan lies still – We spy the Forests and the Hills The Tents to Nature’s Show Mistake the Outside for…

Delight’s Despair at setting Is that Delight is less Than the sufficing Longing That so impoverish. Enchantment’s Perihelion Mistaken oft has been For the Authentic orbit Of it’s Anterior Sun.

Declaiming Waters none may dread – But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature – they are full –

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest Of the Thefts of Time – There marauds a sorer Robber – Silence – is his name – No Assault, nor any menace Doth betoken him. But from Life’s consummate Cluster, He supplants the Balm.

Death warrants are supposed to be An enginery of equity A merciful mistake A pencil in an Idol’s Hand A Devotee has oft consigned To Crucifix or Block

Death is the supple Suitor That wins at last – It is a stealthy Wooing Conducted first By pallid innuendoes And dim approach But brave at last with Bugles And a bisected Coach It bears away in triumph To Troth…

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the saw, Baffle, if it cost you Everything you are. Then, if it have burrowed Out…

Dear March – Come in – How glad I am – I hoped for you before – Put down your Hat – You must have walked – How out of Breath you are – Dear March, how are you, and…

Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart Upon the hither side Has Dowers of Prospective Surrendered by the Tried – Inquire of the proudest Rose Which rapture – she preferred And she will tell you sighing – The transport of…