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Prayer is the little implement through which men reach where presence is denied them.

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
Men
Implement
Denied
Presence
Reach
Prayer
Littles
Little

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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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That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.
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Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -
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You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
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You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight - though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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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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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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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...
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Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn Men eat of it and die.
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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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Opinion is a flitting thing But Truth outlasts the Sun.
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To shut your eyes is to travel.
Emily Dickinson
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I don't profess to be profound but I do lay claim to common sense.
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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
Emily Dickinson
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The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
Emily Dickinson