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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.

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
Friend
Abode
Meanwhile
Station
Persist
Divides
Stations
Ramble
Near
Joins
Eternity
Persists

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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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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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Not if Their Party were waiting, Not if to talk with Me Were to Them now, Homesickness After Eternity.
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I have an appetite for silence.
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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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You are out of the way of temptation and out of the way of the tempter - I didn't mean to make you wicked - but I was - and am - and shall be - and I was with you so much that I couldn't help contaminate.
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The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man.
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The Pleading of the Summer - That other Prank - of Snow - That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels - know.
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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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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The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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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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Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
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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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There is a solitude of space. A solitude of sea. A solitude of death, but these societies shall be compared with that profounder site-that polar privacy. A soul admitted to itself--Finite infinity.
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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This so much joy! This so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side the victory!
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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