Quote

Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!

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
Lord
Snow
Windy
Fall
Bear
November
Littles
Sing
Sunny
Little
Bears
Grant
Mind
Poet
Grants
Side
Besides
Sides
Autumn
Prosaic
Days
Poets
Haze

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The hearts that never lean must fall.
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The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
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I hope you're very careful working, eating and drinking when the heat is so great--there are temptations there which at home you are free from--beware the juicy fruits, and the cooling ades, and cordials, and do not eat ice-cream, it is so very dangerous.
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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!
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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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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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Fortune befriends the bold.
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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?
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Where thou art, that is home.
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September's Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets - Crows - and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming - An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.
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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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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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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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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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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.
Emily Dickinson