Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.
To be alive is Power Existence in itself Without a further function Omnipotence enough.
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise; and then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite would be a daily thing, did not ourselves the cubits warp for fear to be a king.
Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that from such a giant were withheld were flesh equivalent. But love is tired and must sleep, and hungry and must graze and so abets the shining Fleet till it is out of gaze.
My life had stood--a Loaded Gun-- In Corners--till a Day The Owner passed--identified-- And carried Me away-- And now We roam in Sovereign Woods-- And now We hunt the Doe-- And every time I speak for Him-- The Mountains straight reply-- And do I smile, such cordial light Upon the Valley glow-- It is as a Vesuvian face Had let its pleasure through-- And when at Night--Our good Day done-- I guard My Master's Head-- 'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's Deep Pillow--to have shared-- To foe of His--I'm deadly foe-- None stir the second time-- On whom I lay a Yellow Eye-- Or an emphatic Thumb-- Though I than He--may longer live He longer must--than I-- For I have but the power to kill, Without--the power to die.
That Love is all there is all we know of Love, it is enough, the freight should be proportioned to the groove.
The soul selects her own society, then shuts the door; on her divine majority obtrude no more.
They are loved, you cannot die, for love is immortality.
To be aliveâ”€â”€is Power.
We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
My love for those I love â€” not many â€” not very many, but don't I love them so?
Perception of an object costs precise the Object's lossâ€”
The soul should always stand ajar, that if the heaven inquire, he will not be obliged to wait, or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid the bolt upon the door, to seek for the accomplished guest, -- her visitor no more.
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars, like petals from a rose, when suddenly across the lune a wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless grass, no eye could find the place; but God on his repealess list can summon every face
To hope means to be ready at every moment for that which is not yet born, and yet not become desperate if there is no birth in our lifetime.
We turn not older with years but newer every day.
Love is Immortality.
My river runs to thee: blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply.
Phosphorescence. Now there's a word to lift your hat to â€” to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
The brain - is wider than the sky - for - put them side by side - the one the other will contain with ease - and you - beside - the brain is deeper than the sea - for- hold them - blue to blue - the one the other will absorb - as sponges - buckets - do - the brain is just the weight of God - for - heft them - pound for pound - and they will differ - if they do - as syllable from sound.
The spirit looks upon the Dust that fastened it so long with indignation, as a Bird defrauded of its Song.