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

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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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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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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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My business is circumference.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
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I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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I dwell in possibilities .
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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man.
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The past is not a package one can lay away.
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All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.
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