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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.
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
Heart
Combination
Sears
Philosopher
Crows
Assuming
Retrospect
Fun
Hints
Turn
Crow
Sear
Turns
Cricket
Dissembling
Makes
Breeze
Crickets
Without
September
Innuendo
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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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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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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 truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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I dwell in Possibility A fairer House than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers as the Cedars Impregnable of Eye And for an Everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky Of Visitors--the fairest For Occupation--This The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise
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Truth - is as old as God-.
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My business is circumference.
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It is finished, is never said of us
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I dwell in Possibility A fairer house than Prose More numerous of Windows Superior — for Doors.
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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
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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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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--
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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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Beauty is not caused. It is.
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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.
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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye It bears the Soul as bold As it were rocked in Steel With Arms of Steel at either side— It joins—behind the Veil To what, could We presume The Bridge would cease to be To Our far, vacillating Feet A first Necessity.
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