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
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.
Remorse --is Memory --awake --/ Her Parties all astir --/ A Presence of Departed Acts --/ At window --and at Door --
Remember if you marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which perchance, will neither last nor please thee one year: and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar - Requires sorest need.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed.
Narcotics cannot still the toothThat Nibbles at the soul
We never know where we go when we are going, We jest and shut the door; Fate - following behind us -bolts it, And we accost no more
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise; and then, if we are true to plan, our stature's touch the skies.
The abdication of belief makes the behavior small -- better an ignis fatuus than no illume at all.
Who has not found the heaven below Will fail of it above. God's residence is next to min, His furniture is love.
Our journey has advanced; / Our feet were almost come / To that odd fork in Being's road,/ Eternity by term.
Will there really be a morning?Is there such a thing as day?...Please to tell a little pilgrimWhere the place called morning lies!
We turn not older with years but newer every day.
I felt it shelter to speak to you.