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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
Bayonet
Contrition
Bayonets
Dead
War
Nothing

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Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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I have an appetite for silence.
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The Truth never flaunted a sign.
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb
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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee. When a Lover is an Owner Different is he.
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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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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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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