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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -

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
Send
Friendship
Friend
Enemy
Soul
Agonizing
Imperial
Spy
Unto

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My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
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A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.
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I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
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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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LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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Spring is the Period Express from God.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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I dwell in possibilities .
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
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Find ecstasy in life the mere sense of living is joy enough.
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.
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Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
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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.
Emily Dickinson