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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.
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
Even
Hungry
Fleet
Love
Shining
Gaze
Flesh
Equivalent
Tired
Giant
Dead
Giants
Doubt
Raise
Graze
Sleep
Till
Abet
Must
Raises
Withheld
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Where thou art, that is home.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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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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Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
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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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I dwell in possiblities.
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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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Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
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Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!
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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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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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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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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.
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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
Emily Dickinson