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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
Bayonets
Dead
War
Nothing
Bayonet
Contrition

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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You are out of the way of temptation and out of the way of the tempter - I didn't mean to make you wicked - but I was - and am - and shall be - and I was with you so much that I couldn't help contaminate.
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!
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Elysium is as far as to The very nearest room, If in that room a friend await Felicity of doom.
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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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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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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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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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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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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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 dwell in possibility.
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Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
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Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
Emily Dickinson