Quote

They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.

Emily Dickinson

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Emily Dickinson
Age: 55 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 10
Died: 1886
Died: May 15
Poet
Writer
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Ai-mi-li Ti-chin-sen
Emilia Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Need
Mine
Needs
Sight
Joy
Helpfulness
Head
Precisely
Small
Necessity
Happiness
Laughter
Helping
Smile
Might
Mines

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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
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The past is not a package one can lay away.
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
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For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
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Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye It bears the Soul as bold As it were rocked in Steel With Arms of Steel at either side— It joins—behind the Veil To what, could We presume The Bridge would cease to be To Our far, vacillating Feet A first Necessity.
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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.
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There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say The Summer than the Autumn, lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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The things of which we want the proof are those we know the best.
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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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