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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?

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
Lover
Gods
Thou
Lovers
Othello
Atheism
Criterion
Says
Censure
Shalt
Criteria

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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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I dwell in possiblities.
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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.
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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 spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise-.
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Our little kinsmen after rain In plenty may be seen, a pink and pulpy multitude The tepid ground upon A needless life if seemed to me Until a little bird As to a hospitality Advanced and breakfasted.
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To possess is past the instant we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
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I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
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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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They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
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When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee. When a Lover is an Owner Different is he.
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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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An altered look about the hills A Tyrian light the village fills A wider sunrise in the dawn A deeper twilight on the lawn A print of a vermilion foot A purple finger on the slope A flippant fly upon the pane A spider at his trade again An added strut in chanticleer A flower expected everywhere.
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The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
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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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I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
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The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
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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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I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
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