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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?
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
Flying
Dews
Angel
Buds
Early
Bud
Among
Dew
Seen
Sunrise
Morning
Smiling
May
Angels
Stooping
Belong
Plucking
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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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A Deed knocks first at Thought And then - it knocks at Will - That is the manufacturing spot.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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I fear a Man of frugal speech - I fear a Silent Man - Haranguer - I can overtake - Or Babbler - entertain - But He who weigheth - While the Rest - Expend their furthest pound - Of this Man - I am wary - I fear that He is Grand -
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The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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I have an appetite for silence.
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
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A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore A privilege I think.
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They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
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A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
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Endow the Living - with the Tears - You squander on the Dead.
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