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
At least to pray is left - is left Oh Jesus - in the Air - I know not which thy chamber is - I'm knocking everywhere.
Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.
A soft Sea washed around the House A Sea of Summer Air And rose and fell the magic Planks That sailed without a care — For Captain was the Butterfly For Helmsman was the Bee And an entire universe For the delighted crew.
All things do go a-courting, In earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single But thee in His world so fair.
Banish Air from Air Divide Light if you dare
That it shall never come again is what makes life so sweet
I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true -- men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe --
Superiority to fateIs difficult to learn.'Tis not conferred by anyBut possible to earn.
When I sound the fairy call, gather here in silent meeiing,Chin to knee on the orchard wall, cooled with dew and cherries eating.Merry, merry, take a cherry, mine are sounder, mine are rounder,Mine are sweeter for the eater, when the dews fall, and you'll be fairies all.
Anger as soon as fed is dead - 'Tis starving that makes it fat
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away
What fortitude the Soul contains, / That it can so endure / The accent of a coming Foot-- / The opening of a Door.
To whom the mornings are like nights, What must the midnights be!
A Deed knocks first at Thought / And then -- it knocks at Will -- / That is the manufacturing spot.