Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Elizabeth Dickinsonwas an American poet. Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Although part of a prominent family with strong ties to its community, Dickinson lived much of her life highly introverted. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst. Considered an eccentric by locals, she developed a noted penchant for white clothing and became known for her reluctance to...
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth10 December 1830
CityAmherst, MA
The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
Love is like life-merely longer.
How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
Forever is made up of nows.
Forever is comprised of nows.
Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight - Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night
Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
I died for Beauty--but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room
Does not Eternity appear dreadful to you. I often get to thinking of it and it seems so dark to me that I almost wish there was no Eternity. To think that we must forever live and never cease to be. It seems as if Death would be a relief to so endless a state of existence.
The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.
I cannot help esteem The 'Bird within the Hand' Superior to the one The 'Bush' may yield me Or may not Too late to choose again
The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?
When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.