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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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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
Heart
Fleet
Like
Balm
Toss
Skepticism
Snow
Atheism
Sweet
Affronted
Doe
Tosses

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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
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Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
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She died--this was the way she died And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
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I tasted life.
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That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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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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The Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
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Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
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I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.
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Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
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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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Love is like life-merely longer.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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