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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.

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
Dies
Bone
Rather
Frankly
Tell
Editing
Men
Editors
Fault
Wince
Bones
Commend
Faults
Surgeon
Call
Surgeons

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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?
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We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more-.
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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
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My life closed twice before its close
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A Dominie in Gray-- Put gently up the evening Bars-- And led the flock away
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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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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She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where is the Bud- Where is the May- Answer Thee-Me-
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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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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.
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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I took one Draught of Life - I'll tell you what I paid - Precisely an existence - The market price, they said.
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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PRESENTIMENT is that long shadow on the lawn Indicative that suns go down The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
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I have an appetite for silence.
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When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth for His mercy endureth forever, with confiding revulsion.
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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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