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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.

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
Though
Always
Vary
Near
Dear
Feet

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To possess is past the instant we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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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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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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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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I dwell in possibility.
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The world allured me & in an unguarded moment I listened to her siren voice. From that moment I seemed to lose interest in heavenly things. Friends reasoned with me & told me of the danger I was in. I felt my danger & was alarmed, but I had rambled too far to return & ever since my heart has been growing harder.
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. 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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My life closed twice before its close
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Endow the Living - with the Tears - You squander on the Dead.
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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