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To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
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
Lose
Bereavement
Loses
Presumption
Seems
Eccentric
Wells
Owned
Might
Affliction
Well
Claim
Never
Claims
Seem
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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!
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I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
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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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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -
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If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now
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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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I would paint a portrait which would bring the tears, had I canvas for it, and the scene should be -- solitude, and the figures -- solitude -- and the lights and shades, each a solitude.
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play.
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The Truth never flaunted a sign.
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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.
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Hope is a thing with feathers
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God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
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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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