Quote

A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find

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
Star
Seek
Wind
Murmur
Tree
Note
Stars
Near
Find
Loud
Enough
Trees
Notes

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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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The Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say The Summer than the Autumn, lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.
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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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I dwell in possiblities.
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By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.
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Wonder is not precisely knowing.
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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
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The Brain is just the weight of God-- For--Heft them--Pound for Pound-- And they will differ--if they do-- As Syllable from Sound
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
Emily Dickinson