Emily Dickinson

«No man saw awe, nor to his house | Admitted he a man | Though by his awful residence | Has human nature been - | Not deeming of his dread abode - | Till laboring to flee | A grasp on comprehension laid | Detained vitality. | | Returning is a different route | The Spirit could not show | For breathing is the only work | To be enacted now. | | "Am not consumed", old Moses wrote, | "Yet saw him face to face" - | That very physiognomy | I am convinced was this.»

«Oh, honey of an hour, | I never knew thy power, | Prohibit me | Till my minutest dower, | My unfrequented flower | Deserving be.»

«One crown that no one seeks | And yet the highest head | It's isolation coveted | It's stigma deified | While Pontius Pilate lives | In whatsoever hell | That coronation pierces him | He recollects it well.»

«Proud of my broken heart, since thou didn't break it, | Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, | Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it, | Not to partake thy passion, my humility. | | Thou can't not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion | Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene | | Thou can't not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture, | See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!»

«Softened by Time's consummate plush, | How sleek the woe appears | That threatened childhood's citadel | And undermined the years. | Bisected now, by bleaker griefs, | We envy the despair | That devastated childhood's realm, | So easy to repair.»

«Sweet is the swamp with it's secrets, | Until we meet a snake; | 'Tis then we sigh for houses, | And our departure take | At that enthralling gallop | That only childhood knows. | A snake is nature's treason, | And awe is where it goes.»

«Some say good night - at night - | I say good night by day - | Good bye - the Going utter me - | Good night, I still reply - | For parting, that is night, | And presence, simply dawn - | Itself, the purple on the hight | Denominated morn.»

«That it will never come again | Is what makes life so sweet. | Believing what we dont believe | Does not exhilarate. | That if it be, it be at best | An ablative estate - | This instigates an appetite | Precisely opposite.»

«The distance that the dead have gone | Does not at first appear; | Their coming back seems possible | For many an ardent year. | And then, that we have followed them, | We more than half suspect, | So intimate have we become | With their dear retrospect.»

«The grave my little cottage is, | Where "Keeping house" for thee | I make my parlor orderly | And lay the marble tea. | For two divided, briefly, | A cycle, it may be, | Till everlasting life unite | In strong society.»

«The joy that has no stem nor core, | Nor seed that we can sow, | Is edible to longing, | But ablative to show. | By fundamental palates | Those products are preferred | Impregnable to transit | And patented by pod.»

«The mob within the heart | Police cannot suppress | The riot given at the first | Is authorized as peace | Uncertified of scene | Or signified of sound | But growing like a hurricane | In a congenial ground.»

«The most important population | Unnoticed dwell. | They have a heaven each instant | Not any hell. | Their names, unless you know them, | 'There useless tell. | Of bumble bees and other nations | The grass is full.»

«The parasol is the umbrella's daughter, | And associates with a fan | While her father abuts the tempest | And abridges the rain. | The former assists a siren | In her serene display; | But her father is borne and honored, | And borrowed to this day.»

«The reticent volcano keeps | His never slumbering plan; | Confided are his projects pink | To no precarious man. | If nature will not tell the tale | Jehovah told to her | Can human nature not proceed | Without a listener? | | Admonished by her buckled lips | Let every prater be | The only secret neighbors keep | Is Immortality.»

«The waters chased him as he fled, | Not daring look behind; | A billow whispered in his Ear, | "Come home with me, my friend; | My parlor is of shriven glass, | My pantry has a fish | For every palate in the Year", - | To this revolting bliss | The object floating at his side | Made no distinct reply.»

«There is a Shame of Nobleness - | Confronting Sudden Pelf - | A finer Shame of Extasy - | Convicted of Itself - | A best Disgrace - a Brave Man feels - | Acknowledged - of the Brave - | One More - "Ye Blessed" - to be told - | But this - involves the Grave.»

«An ignorance a Sunset | Confer upon the Eye - | Of Territory - Color - | Circumference - Decay - | It's Amber Revelation | Exhilirate - Debase - | Omnipotence inspection | Of Our inferior face - | | And when the solemn features | Confirm - in Victory - | We start - as if detected | In Immortality.»

«One Crucifixion is recorded - only - | How many be | Is not affirmed of Mathematics - | Or History - | One Calvary - exhibited to Stranger - | As many be | As Persons - or Peninsulas - | Gethsemane - | | Is but a Province - in the Being's Centre - | Judea - | For Journey - or Crusade's Achieving - | Too near - | | Our Lord - indeed - made Compound Witness - | And yet - | There's newer - nearer Crucifixion | Than That.»

«The Black Berry - wears a Thorn in his side - | But no Man heard Him cry - | He offers His Berry, just the same | To Partridge - and to Boy - | He sometimes holds upon the Fence - | Or struggles to a Tree - | Or clasps a Rock, with both His Hands - | But not for Sympathy - | | We - tell a Hurt - to cool it - | This Mourner - to the Sky | A little further reaches - instead - | Brave Black Berry.»