Quote

His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!

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
Noon
Idleness
Insects
Tune
Bees
Tunes
Labor
Clovers
Experience
Chant

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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
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Love is like life-merely longer.
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
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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.
Emily Dickinson
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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This so much joy! This so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side the victory!
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...
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Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.
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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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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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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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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?
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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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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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Good times are always mutual that is what makes good times.
Emily Dickinson