Category Emily Dickinson

This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone— The Maimed may pause, and breathe, And glance securely round— The Deer attracts no further Than it resists—the Hound—

This is the land the sunset washes, These are the banks of the Yellow Sea; Where it rose, or whither it rushes, These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traffic Strews the landing with opal bales; Merchantmen…

This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me — The simple News that Nature told — With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see — For love of Her — Sweet —…

This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified— Shy as the Wind of his Chambers Swift as a Freshet’s Tongue So of the Flower of the Soul Its process is…

This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star in vain, Give gently to the dead— Hound cannot overtake the Hare That fluttered panting, here— Nor any schoolboy rob the nest Tenderness…

This Dust, and its Feature— Accredited—Today— Will in a second Future— Cease to identify— This Mind, and its measure— A too minute Area For its enlarged inspection’s Comparison—appear— This World, and its species A too concluded show For its absorbed…

This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone Is traversing the interval Experience between And most profound experiment Appointed unto Men— How adequate unto itself Its properties…

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure drop The Day must follow too. If we demur, its gaping sides Disclose as ’twere a Tomb Ourself am lying straight wherein The Favorite…

This Bauble was preferred of Bees— By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird— Did Noon—enamel—in Herself Was Summer to a Score Who only knew of Universe— It had created Her.

They won’t frown always—some sweet Day When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I looked And how I just said “Please.” Then They will hasten to the Door To call the little Girl Who cannot thank Them for…