Quote

PRESENTIMENT is that long shadow on the lawn Indicative that suns go down The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.

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
Grass
Pass
Presentiment
Shadow
Indicative
Sun
Startled
Darkness
Suns
Long
Lawn
Lawns
Notice

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There is a solitude of space. A solitude of sea. A solitude of death, but these societies shall be compared with that profounder site-that polar privacy. A soul admitted to itself--Finite infinity.
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It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.
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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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That it will never come again is what makes life sweet.
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I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
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The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
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A wounded deer leaps the highest.
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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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Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.
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That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
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Fortune befriends the bold.
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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
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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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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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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile – the winds – To a heart in port – Done with the compass – Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor – Tonight – In thee!
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God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
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My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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Which Anguish was the utterest--then-- To perish, or to live?
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