Quote

All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.

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
Things
Fair
Love
Thee
World
Sea
Air
Courting
Single
Sentimental
Earth
Engagement
Nothing
Hath
Made
Fairs

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Good times are always mutual that is what makes good times.
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I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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It is finished, is never said of us
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
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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!
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I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
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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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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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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
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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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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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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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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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