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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods

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
Letters
Joy
Earth
Letter
Denied
Gods

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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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Such is the force of Happiness-- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
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I would paint a portrait which would bring the tears, had I canvas for it, and the scene should be -- solitude, and the figures -- solitude -- and the lights and shades, each a solitude.
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Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!
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They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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The Supernatural is only the Natural disclosed.
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Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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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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I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
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He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.
Emily Dickinson
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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
Emily Dickinson
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
Emily Dickinson