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
Then, as horizons step, Or noons report away,Without the formula of sound, It passes, and we stay:A quality of loss Affecting our content.
I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod.
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period - When March is scarcely here A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels. It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you. Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay - A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.
Endow the Living - with the Tears - You squander on the Dead.
To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot-.
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!
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