Quote

We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.

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
Angelic
Rank
Uniforms
Angels
Snow
Angel
Trust
Plumed
Feet
Procession

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The brain is wider than the sky.
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Forever is made up of nows.
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I could not prove the Years had feet-/Yet confident they run.
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The abdication of Belief Makes the Behavior small- Better an ignis fatuus Than no illume at all.
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The Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
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Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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Open your life wide, and take me in forever. I will never be tired-I will never be noisy when you want to be still...nobody else will see me, but you-but that is enough-I shall not want any more.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength.
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say The Summer than the Autumn, lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
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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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This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
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