Category Emily Dickinson

A World made penniless by that departure Of minor fabrics begs But sustenance is of the spirit The Gods but Dregs –

A word made Flesh is seldom And tremblingly partook Nor then perhaps reported But have I not mistook Each one of us has tasted With ecstasies of stealth The very food debated To our specific strength – A Word that…

A word is dead, when it is said, Some say – I say it just begins to live That day

A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds We may inhale Despair At distances of Centuries From the Malaria –

A winged spark doth soar about – I never met it near For Lightning it is oft mistook When nights are hot and sere – It’s twinkling Travels it pursues Above the Haunts of men – A speck of Rapture…

A Wind that rose though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred – But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird. A Wind that woke a lone Delight Like Separation’s Swell – Restored in Arctic Confidence To…

A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds That threatened it – did run And crouched behind his Yellow Door Was the defiant sun – Some conflict with those upper friends So genial in the main That we deplore peculiarly Their…

A train went through a burial gate, A bird broke forth and sang, And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat Till all the churchyard rang; And then adjusted his little notes, And bowed and sang again. Doubtless, he thought…

A Stagnant pleasure like a Pool That lets it’s Rushes grow Until they heedless tumble in And make the Water slow Impeding navigation bright Of Shadows going down Yet even this shall rouse itself When Freshets come along –

A Spider sewed at Night Without a Light Upon an Arc of White – If Ruff it was of Dame Or Shroud of Gnome Himself himself inform – Of Immortality His Strategy Was Physiognomy –