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... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
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
Space
Boots
Soul
Lifts
Depression
Boxes
Began
Creak
Across
Toll
Lead
Tolls
Heard
Lift
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A Deed knocks first at Thought And then - it knocks at Will - That is the manufacturing spot.
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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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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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.
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
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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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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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Pain - has an Element of Blank It cannot recollect When it begun - or if there were a time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite contain Its Past - enlightened to perceive New Periods - of Pain.
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Hope is a thing with feathers
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
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A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.
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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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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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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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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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My life closed twice before its close It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
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The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
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