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Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!

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
Daisies
Housework
Ceiling
Ceilings
Housewife
Cobweb
Swings
Lain
Fearless
Indolent
Cobwebs

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This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me
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Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!
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Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.
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Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
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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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You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!
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Publication - is the auction of the mind.
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My business is circumference.
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Fortune befriends the bold.
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Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
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If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
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Prosperity Whose sources are interior. As soon Adversity A diamond overtake.
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Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn Men eat of it and die.
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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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The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
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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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For love is immortality.
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Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.
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