Emily Dickinson

“We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.”

“That Love is all there isIs all we know of Love,It is enough, the freight should beProportioned to the groove.”

“There is nothing more fugal than a book to take you to different lands”

“Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true”

“Then I will not repineKnowing that bird of mineThough flown shall in a distant treeBright melody for meReturn.”

“A charm invests a faceImperfectly beheld,—The lady dare not lift her veilFor fear it be dispelled.But peers beyond her mesh,And wishes, and denies,—Lest interview annul a wantThat image satisfies.”

“The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.”

“Dich hab ich nicht erreicht-Doch nähert Tag für TagSich dir mein FußDrei Flüsse noch und ein BergIch überqueren muss.Noch Eine Wüste, noch ein Meer,Die Reise aber zähl ich nicht,Wenn ich dann vor Dir steh.Wir schreiten leicht, wie Schnee wir stehen,die Wasser murmeln leis.Flüsse, Wüsten, Berg und Meersind von uns durchlaufen.Doch Tod entreißt mir meinen Preis,Dich schauend, er gewinnt.”

“I did not reach thee, But my feet slip nearer every day; Three Rivers and a Hill to cross, One Desert and a Sea— I shall not count the journey one When I am telling thee. Two deserts—but the year is cold So that will help the sand— One desert crossed, the second one Will feel as cool as land. Sahara is too little price To pay for thy Right hand! The sea comes last. Step merry, feet! So short have we to go To play together we are prone, But we must labor now, The last shall be the lightest load That we have had to draw. The Sun goes crooked—that is night— Before he makes the bend We must have passed the middle sea, Almost we wish the end Were further off—too great it seems So near the Whole to stand. We step like plush, we stand like snow— The waters murmur now, Three rivers and the hill are passed, Two deserts and the sea! Now Death usurps my premium And gets the look at Thee.”

“They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,Like petals from a rose,When suddenly across the luneA wind with fingers goes.They perished in the seamless grass,No eye could find the place;But God on his repealless listCan summon every face”

“La "speranza" è la pennuta creaturaChe si posa nell'animaE canta melodia senza paroleE non smette mai, proprio mai”

“I wonder if it hurts to live,And if they have to try,And whether, could they choose between,They would not rather die.”

“I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.”

“A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.”

“If the stillness is VolcanicIn the human faceWhen upon a pain TitanicFeatures keep their place-If at length the smoldering anguishWill not overcome-And the palpitating VinyardIn the dust, be overthrown?”

“Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies”

“Whose fingers string the stalactite-Who counts the Wampum of the night”

“Dogs are better than people.”

“I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled. Brazil? He twirled a button, Without a glance my way: “But, madam, is there nothing else That we can show to-day?”

“A Bird came down the Walk –He did not know I saw –He bit an Angleworm in halvesAnd ate the fellow, raw,And then he drank a DewFrom a convenient Grass –And then hopped sidewise to the WallTo let a Beetle pass –...”

“If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.”

“I have been bent and broken, but -I hope- into a better shape.”

“You think my gait 'spasmodic' - I am in danger - Sir - You think me 'uncontrolled' - I have no Tribunal.”

“Fame is a bee.It has a song -It has a sting -Ah, too, it has a wing.”

“When Jesus tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is 'acquainted with Grief', we listen, for that also is an Acquaintance of our own.”

“Witchcraft was hung, in History,But History and IFind all the Witchcraft that we needAround us, every Day -”

“Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Nature's West -”

“A power of Butterfly must be -The Aptitude to flyMeadows of Majesty concedesAnd easy Sweeps of Sky -”

“After you went, a low wind warbled through the house like a spacious bird, making it high but lonely. When you had gone the love came. I supposed it would. The supper of the heart is when the guest has gone.”

“Harm is one of those things that I always mean to keep clear of, but somehow my intentions and me don't chime as they ought, and people will get hit with stones that I throw at my neighbor's dogs...”

“We journey to the day,And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.”

“Beauty crowds me till I die,Beauty, mercy have on me!But if I expire today,Let it be in sight of thee”

“A precious mouldering pleasure 't isTo meet an antique book,In just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And warming in our own,A passage back, or two, to makeTo times when he was young.His quaint opinions to inspect,His knowledge to unfoldOn what concerns our mutual mind.The literature of old;What interested scholars most,What competitions ranWhen Plato was a certainty,And Sophocles a man;When Sappho was a living girl,And Beatrice woreThe gown that Dante deified.Facts, centuries before,He traverses familiar,As one should come to townAnd tell you all your dreams were true:He lived where dreams were born.His presence is enchantment,You beg him not to go;Old volumes shake their vellum headsAnd tantalize just so.”

“Drowning is not so pitiful as the attempt to rise.”

“We never know how high we areTill we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan,Our statures touch the skies.The heroism we reciteWould be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the cubits warpFor fear to be a king.”

“Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!Bliss is but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!”

“Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.”

“Where Thou art - that - is Home.”

“Did the harebell loose her girdleTo the lover bee,Would the bee the harebell hallowMuch as formerly?”

“Earth is crammed with Heaven.”

“Pain - has an Element of BlankIt cannot recollectWhen it begun - or if there werea time when it was not - It has no Future - but itself - Its Infinite containIts Past - enlightened to perceiveNew Periods - of Pain.”

“Forgive me if I never visit. I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the dandelions, make a sorry figure in a drawing room.”

“The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise.”

“Susie, what shall I do - there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!”

“What inn is thisWhere for the nightPeculiar traveller comes?Who is the landlord?Where are the maids?Behold, what curious rooms!No ruddy fires on the hearth,No brimming tankards flow.Necromancer, landlord,Who are these below?”

“Love can do all but raise the DeadI doubt if even thatFrom such a giant were withheldWere flesh equivalentBut love is tired and must sleep,And hungry and must grazeAnd so abets the shining FleetTill it is out of gaze.”

“It was a quiet way -He asked if I was his -I made no answer of the tongueBut answer of the eyes -And then He bore me onBefore this mortal noiseWith swiftness, as of Chariotsand distance, as of Wheels.This World did drop awayAs acres from the feetof one that leaneth from BalloonUpon an Ether Street.The Gulf behind was not,The Continents were new -Eternity was due.No Seasons were to us -It was not Night nor Morn -But Sunrise stopped upon the placeAnd Fastened in Dawn.”

“The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care”

“A precious, mouldering pleasure ’tis To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take, And warming in our own, A passage back, or two, to make To times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, His knowledge to unfold On what concerns our mutual mind, The literature of old”

“Because I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste,And I had put awayMy 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 seemedA swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible,The cornice but a mound.Since then 'tis centuries; but eachFeels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses' headsWere toward eternity.”