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The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.

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
Acquired
Appetite
Seldom
Taste
Silence

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Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth
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Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
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To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
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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 power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
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Forever is composed of Nows— 'Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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PRESENTIMENT is that long shadow on the lawn Indicative that suns go down The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
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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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Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!
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Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where is the Bud- Where is the May- Answer Thee-Me-
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The Brain is just the weight of God-- For--Heft them--Pound for Pound-- And they will differ--if they do-- As Syllable from Sound
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And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
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To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
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