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
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away
I dwell in Possibility --/ A fairer House than Prose --/ More numerous of Windows --/ Superior --for Doors --.
You don't have to be a house to be haunted.
I know some lonely houses off the road A robber'd like the look of,-- Wooden barred, And windows hanging low
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted— One need not be a House— The Brain — has Corridors — surpassing Material Place— Far safer, of a Midnight — meeting External Ghost— Than an Interior — Confronting— That cooler — Host. Far safer, through an Abbey — gallop— The Stones a'chase— Than Moonless — One's A'self encounter— In lonesome place— Ourself — behind ourself — Concealed— Should startle — most....
God, keep me from what they call 'households,'
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.
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
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!