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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.

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
Bell
Bells
Memory
Strange
Memories
Knell
Jubilee

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Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -
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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 narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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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 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
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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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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.
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March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now. We try to sham becoming firmness, But pompous joy Betrays us, as his first betrothal Betrays a boy.
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That it will never come again is what makes life sweet.
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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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