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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.

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
Precious
Dust
Poverty
Grew
Knew
Poor
Robust
Words
Drank
Spirit
Frame

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She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.
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I don't profess to be profound but I do lay claim to common sense.
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That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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What Soft--Cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen are-- One would as soon assault a Plush-- Or violate a Star
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My business is circumference.
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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
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People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
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Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies
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A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.
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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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September's Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets - Crows - and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming - An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.
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A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire, He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door, To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.
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