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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
Service
Hope
Without
Think
Thinking
Like
Tenderest
Altruism
Diligence

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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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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
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The brain is wider than the sky.
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The last of Summer is Delight - Deterred by Retrospect. 'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To meet it - nameless as it is - Without celestial Mail - Audacious as without a Knock To walk within the Veil.
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Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
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The world allured me & in an unguarded moment I listened to her siren voice. From that moment I seemed to lose interest in heavenly things. Friends reasoned with me & told me of the danger I was in. I felt my danger & was alarmed, but I had rambled too far to return & ever since my heart has been growing harder.
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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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To shut your eyes is to travel.
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God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.
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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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That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--
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To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
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Hope is a thing with feathers
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Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
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Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
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The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.
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