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A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.

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
Contrition
Bayonets
Dead
War
Nothing
Bayonet

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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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Safe Despair it is that raves- Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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Home is the definition of God.
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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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I dwell in possiblities.
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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To be alive──is Power.
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A wounded deer leaps the highest.
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What Soft--Cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen are-- One would as soon assault a Plush-- Or violate a Star
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies
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Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity - Unable they that love - to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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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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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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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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