Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true
If your Nerve, deny you - Go above your Nerve
I'll tell you how the Sun rose.
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,— This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.
I hope you're very careful working, eating and drinking when the heat is so great--there are temptations there which at home you are free from--beware the juicy fruits, and the cooling ades, and cordials, and do not eat ice-cream, it is so very dangerous.
They say that 'home is where the heart is. ' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.
The Heart asks Pleasure--first-- And then--Excuse from Pain
How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door.
What fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot- The opening of a Door.
To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot-.
The Brain is just the weight of God-- For--Heft them--Pound for Pound-- And they will differ--if they do-- As Syllable from Sound
I never saw a meme; I never saw the sea.
Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell
I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true - men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe
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!
Unto a broken heart No other one may go Without the high prerogative Itself hath suffered too.
Spring is the Period Express from God.