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The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until

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
Thinking
Like
Tenderest
Altruism
Diligence
Service
Hope
Without
Think

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I could not stop for death and he did not stop for me.
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
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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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Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.
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The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!
Emily Dickinson
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I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
Emily Dickinson
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
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That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious Tis almost consequence, Is the eclat of death.
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Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
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What Soft--Cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen are-- One would as soon assault a Plush-- Or violate a Star
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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...
Emily Dickinson
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Friends are nations in themselves.
Emily Dickinson
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
Emily Dickinson