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
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest room, If in that room a friend await Felicity of doom.
My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them!
My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, - Or the most agonizing Spy - An Enemy - could send -
Till the first friend dies, we think our ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as yet unknown.
A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.
My friends are my estate.
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
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- / The Truth must dazzle gradually /Or every man be blind.
To whom the mornings are like nights, What must the midnights be!
Who has not found the heaven below Will fail of it above. God's residence is next to min, His furniture is love.
Will there really be a morning?Is there such a thing as day?...Please to tell a little pilgrimWhere the place called morning lies!