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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.

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
Spreading
Gather
Narrow
Paradise
Wide
Hands

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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
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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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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until
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I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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To be alive is power existence in itself without a further function omnipotence.
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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 Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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Not 'Revelation'-'tis that waits/ But our unfurnished eyes
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Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
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I have an appetite for silence.
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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
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To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
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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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Safe Despair it is that raves- Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.
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My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
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