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
When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
... And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again, Then space began to toll.
There is a solitude of space. A solitude of sea. A solitude of death, but these societies shall be compared with that profounder site-that polar privacy. A soul admitted to itself--Finite infinity.
The Life we have is very great. The Life that we shall see Surpasses it, we know, because It is Infinity, But when all Space has been beheld And all Dominion shown The smallest Human Heart's extent Reduces it to none.
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.
The brain is wider than the sky; For put them side by side The one the other will contain with ease - And you beside