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A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore A privilege I think.
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
Thinking
Dress
Dresses
Privilege
Mouldering
Meet
Antique
Century
Quaint
Pleasure
Antiques
Book
Wore
Think
Precious
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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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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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When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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To possess is past the instant we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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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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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
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