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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

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
Forget
Forgets
Makes
Aims
Forgot
Dawn
Aim
Allowed
Atheism
Impel
Ones
Astral

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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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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me?
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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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To be alive is power existence in itself without a further function omnipotence.
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
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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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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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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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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
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Truth - is as old as God-.
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It is finished, is never said of us
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After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
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September's Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets - Crows - and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming - An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher.
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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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To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
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My business is circumference.
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My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
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I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
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Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
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