Quote

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

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
Concern
Pedigree
Garden
Dessert
Spring
Aristocracy
Food
Spiders
Animal
Insects
Doe
Bees
Time
Pet
Clover
Honey
Clovers

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Home is the definition of God.
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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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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!
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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.
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The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
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I dwell in possibilities .
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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn Men eat of it and die.
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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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My business is circumference.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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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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Best Witchcraft is Geometry To the magician's mind - His ordinary acts are feats To thinking of mankind.
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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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The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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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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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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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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