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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.

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
Broken
Feet
Intercede
Knew
Pagan
Intuitive
Foot
Pray
Praying
Atheism

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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.
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My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?
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Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices. Fine children, the image of their mother. And here, my dear friend, is the glory.
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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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Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...
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Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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Speech is one symptom of affection and silence one the perfect communication is heard of none.
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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence - is denied them. They fling their Speech By means of it - in God's Ear - If then He hear - This sums the Apparatus Comprised in Prayer
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They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady
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A Dominie in Gray-- Put gently up the evening Bars-- And led the flock away
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Forever - is composed of Nows - 'Tis not a different time... Let Months dissolve in further Months - And Years - exhale in Years.
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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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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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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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I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.
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