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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—

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
Lying
True
Summertime
Nature
Flee
Book
Poems
Never
Sky
Summer
Poetry
Though

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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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My life closed twice before its close It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
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Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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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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This so much joy! This so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side the victory!
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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.
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The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
Emily Dickinson
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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Open your life wide, and take me in forever. I will never be tired-I will never be noisy when you want to be still...nobody else will see me, but you-but that is enough-I shall not want any more.
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -
Emily Dickinson
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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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Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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