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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.

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
Composed
Months
Forever
Different
Years
Time
Nows
Exhale
Dissolve

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A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
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Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
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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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Forever is made up of nows.
Emily Dickinson
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The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
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[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
Emily Dickinson
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The last of Summer is Delight - Deterred by Retrospect. 'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To meet it - nameless as it is - Without celestial Mail - Audacious as without a Knock To walk within the Veil.
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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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What Soft--Cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen are-- One would as soon assault a Plush-- Or violate a Star
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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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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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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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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
Emily Dickinson