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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
Doubt
Raise
Graze
Sleep
Till
Abet
Must
Raises
Withheld
Even
Hungry
Fleet
Love
Shining
Gaze
Flesh
Equivalent
Tired
Giant
Dead
Giants
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I tasted life.
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I would paint a portrait which would bring the tears, had I canvas for it, and the scene should be -- solitude, and the figures -- solitude -- and the lights and shades, each a solitude.
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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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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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For love is immortality.
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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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I dwell in possiblities.
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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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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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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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I dwell in possibilities .
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I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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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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