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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

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
Cute
Dawn
Romantic
Morning
Without
Love
Dwindled
Emily
Sunrise

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Friends are nations in themselves.
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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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The world allured me & in an unguarded moment I listened to her siren voice. From that moment I seemed to lose interest in heavenly things. Friends reasoned with me & told me of the danger I was in. I felt my danger & was alarmed, but I had rambled too far to return & ever since my heart has been growing harder.
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength.
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Our little kinsmen after rain In plenty may be seen, a pink and pulpy multitude The tepid ground upon A needless life if seemed to me Until a little bird As to a hospitality Advanced and breakfasted.
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
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Endow the Living - with the Tears - You squander on the Dead.
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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
Emily Dickinson