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Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb

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
Slay
Tomb
Tombs
Arrows
Strike
Strikes
Escape
Trackless
Atheism
Slew

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Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --
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A Deed knocks first at Thought And then - it knocks at Will - That is the manufacturing spot.
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Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved - the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
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Friends are nations in themselves.
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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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This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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As Summer into Autumn slips And yet we sooner say The Summer than the Autumn, lest We turn the sun away, And almost count it an Affront The presence to concede Of one however lovely, not The one that we have loved - So we evade the charge of Years On one attempting shy The Circumvention of the Shaft Of Life's Declivity.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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It is finished, is never said of us
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A color stands abroad on solitary hills that silence cannot overtake, but human nature feels.
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I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
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I dwell in possibilities .
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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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We trust in plumed procession For such the angels go Rank after rank, with even feet/And uniforms of snow.
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My life closed twice before its close
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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Safe Despair it is that raves- Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.
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