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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!

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
Dies
Expire
Crowds
Till
Mercy
Thee
Sight
Beauty

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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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My life closed twice before its close
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
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Home is the definition of God.
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play.
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A Letter is a Joy of Earth - It is denied the Gods
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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved - the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
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The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
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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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I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
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Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.
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The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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I tasted life.
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I felt it shelter to speak to you.
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Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed.
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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
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