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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.

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
Somewhat
Memorable
Everywhere
God
Spiritual
Always
Recluse
Think
Hermits
Thinking
Emily

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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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To be alive──is Power.
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Find ecstasy in life the mere sense of living is joy enough.
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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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 spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--
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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
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Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --
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Elysium is as far as to The very nearest room, If in that room a friend await Felicity of doom.
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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