Emily Dickinson

«You see I cannot see - your lifetime - | I must guess - | How many times it ache for me - today - Confess - | How many times for my far sake | The brave eyes film - | But I guess guessing hurts - | Mine - got so dim! | Too vague - the face - | My own - so patient - covers - | Too far - the strength - | My timidness enfolds - | Haunting the Heart - | Like her translated faces - | Teasing the want - | It - only - can suffice!»

«Hope is the thing with feathers - | That perches in the soul - | And sings the tune without the words - | And never stops - at all - | And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - | And sore must be the storm - | That could abash the little Bird | That kept so many warm - | | I've heard it in the chillest land - | And on the strangest Sea - | Yet, never, in Extremity, | It asked a crumb - of Me.»

«There's a certain Slant of light, | Winter Afternoons - | That oppresses, like the Heft | Of Cathedral Tunes - | Heavenly Hurt, it gives us - | We can find no scar, | But internal difference, | Where the Meanings, are - | | None may teach it - Any - | 'Tis the Seal Despair - | An imperial affliction | Sent us of the Air - | | When it comes, the Landscape listens - | Shadows - hold their breath - | When it goes, 'tis like the Distance | On the look of Death.»

«Good Night! Which put the Candle out? | A jealous Zephyr - not a doubt - | Ah, friend, you little knew | How long at that celestial wick | The Angels - labored diligent - | Extinguished - now - for you! | It might - have been the Light House spark - | Some Sailor - rowing in the Dark - | Had importuned to see! | It might - have been the waning lamp | That lit the Drummer from the Camp | To purer Reveille!»

«Read - Sweet - how others - strove - | Till we - are stouter - | What they - renounced - | Till we - are less afraid - | How many times they - bore the faithful witness - | Till we - are helped - | As if a Kingdom - cared! | Read then - of faith - | That shone above the fagot - | Clear strains of Hymn | The River could not drown - | Brave names of Men - | And Celestial Women - | Passed out - of Record | Into - Renown!»

«Put up my lute! | What of - my Music! | Since the sole ear I cared to charm - | Passive - as Granite - laps My Music - | Sobbing - will suit - as well as psalm! | Would but the "Memnon" of the Desert - | Teach me the strain | That vanquished Him - | When He - surrendered to the Sunrise - | Maybe - that - would awaken - them!»

«The lonesome for they know not What - | The Eastern Exiles - be - | Who strayed beyond the Amber line | Some madder Holiday - | And ever since - the purple Moat | They strive to climb - in vain - | As Birds - that tumble from the clouds | Do fumble at the strain - | | The Blessed Ether - taught them - | Some Transatlantic Morn - | When Heaven - was too common - to miss - | Too sure - to dote upon!»

«A Weight with Needles on the pounds - | To push, and pierce, besides - | That if the Flesh resist the Heft - | The puncture - coolly tries - | That not a pore be overlooked | Of all this Compound Frame - | As manifold for Anguish - | As Species - be - for name.»

«Where Ships of Purple - gently toss - | On Seas of Daffodil - | Fantastic Sailors - mingle - | And then - the Wharf is still!»

«This - is the land - the Sunset washes - | These - are the Banks of the Yellow Sea - | Where it rose - or whither it rushes - | These - are the Western Mystery! | Night after Night | Her purple traffic | Strews the landing with Opal Bales - | Merchantmen - poise upon Horizons - | Dip - and vanish like Orioles!»

«Did we disobey Him? | Just one time! | Charged us to forget Him - | But we could'nt learn! | Were Himself - such a Dunce - | What would we - do? | Love the dull lad - best - | Oh, wouldn't you.»

«Me, change! Me, alter! | Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill | A Smaller Purple grows - | At sunset, or a lesser glow | Flickers upon Cordillera - | At Day's superior close!»

«Bound - a trouble - | And lives can bear it! | Limit - how deep a bleeding go! | So - many - drops - of vital scarlet - | Deal with the soul | As with Algebra! | Tell it the Ages - to a cypher - | And it will ache - contented - on - | Sing - at it's pain - as any Workman - | Notching the fall of the Even Sun!»

«Bound - a Trouble - and Lives will bear it - | Circumscription - enables Wo - | Still to anticipate - Were no limit - | Who were sufficient to Misery? | State it the Ages - to a cipher - | And it will ache - contented on - | Sing, at it's pain, as any Workman - | Notching the fall of the Even Sun.»

«I breathed enough to take the Trick - | And now, removed from Air - | I simulate the Breath, so well - | That One, to be quite sure - | The Lungs are stirless - must descend | Among the Cunning Cells - | And touch the Pantomime - Himself, | How cool - the Bellows feels.»

«He put the Belt around my life - | I heard the Buckle snap - | And turned away, imperial, | My Lifetime folding up - | Deliberate, as a Duke would do | A Kingdom's Title Deed - | Henceforth, a Dedicated sort - | A Member of the Cloud. | Yet not too far to come at call - | And do the little Toils | That make the Circuit of the Rest - | And deal occasional smiles | To lives that stoop to notice mine - | And kindly ask it in - | Whose invitation, know you not | For Whom I must decline?»

«What if I say I shall not wait! | What if I burst the fleshly Gate - | And pass escaped - to thee! | What if I file this Mortal - off - | See where it hurt me - That's enough - | And wade in Liberty! | | They cannot take me - any more! | Dungeons can call - and Guns implore | Unmeaning - now - to me - | | As laughter - was - an hour ago - | Or Laces - or a Travelling Show - | Or who died - yesterday!»

«Many a phrase has the English language - | I have heard but one - | Low as the laughter of the Cricket, | Loud, as the Thunder's Tongue - | Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs, | When the Tide's a' lull - | Saying itself in new inflection - | Like a Whippowil - | | Breaking in bright Orthography | On my simple sleep - | Thundering it's Prospective - | Till I stir, and weep - | | Not for the Sorrow, done me - | But the push of Joy - | Say it again, Saxon! | Hush - Only to me!»

«A Shady friend - for Torrid days - | Is easier to find - | Than one of higher temperature | For Frigid - hour of Mind - | The Vane a little to the East - | Scares Muslin souls - away - | If Broadcloth Hearts are firmer - | Than those of Organdy - | | Who is to blame? The Weaver? | Ah, the bewildering thread! | The Tapestries of Paradise | So notelessly - are made.»

«How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand, | Until a sudden sky | Reveals the fact that One is rapt | Forever from the Eye - | Members of the Invisible, | Existing, while we stare, | In Leagueless Opportunity, | O'ertakenless, as the Air - | | Why did'nt we detain Them? | The Heavens with a smile, | Sweep by our disappointed Heads | Without a syllable -.»