Emily Dickinson

«Death is the supple Suitor | That wins at last - | It is a stealthy Wooing | Conducted first | By pallid innuendoes | And dim approach | But brave at last with Bugles | And a bisected Coach | It bears away in triumph | To Troth unknown | And Kinsmen as divulgeless | As throngs of Down.»

«His Mind like Fabrics of the East - | Displayed to the despair | Of everyone but here and there | An humble Purchaser - | For though his price was not of Gold - | More arduous there is - | That one should comprehend the worth, | Was all the price there was.»

«Today or this noon | She dwelt so close | I almost touched her | Tonight she lies | Past neighborhood | And bough and steeple | Now past surmise.»

«The Road was lit with Moon and star - | The Trees were bright and still - | Descried I - by -the distant Light | A traveller on a Hill - | To magic Perpendiculars | Ascending, though terrene - | Unknown his shimmering ultimate - | But he indorsed the sheen.»

«When we have ceased to care | The Gift is given | For which we gave the Earth | And mortgaged Heaven | But so declined in worth | 'Tis ignominy now | To look upon.»

«'Twas comfort in her Dying Room | To hear the living Clock | A short relief to have the wind | Walk boldly up and knock | Diversion from the Dying Theme | To hear the children play | But wrong the more | That these could live | And this of our's must die.»

«Volcanoes be in Sicily | And South America | I judge from my Geography | Volcanoes nearer here | A Lava step at any time | Am I inclined to climb | A Crater I may contemplate | Vesuvius at Home.»

«Witchcraft has not a pedigree | 'Tis early as our Breath | And mourners meet it going out | The moment of our death.»

«With sweetness unabated | Informed the hour had come | With no remiss of triumph | The autumn started home - | Her home to be with Nature | As competition done | By influential kinsmen | Invited to return | In supplements of Purple | An adequate repast | In heavenly reviewing | Her residue be past.»

«A curious Cloud surprised the Sky, | 'Twas like a sheet with Horns; | The sheet was Blue - | The Antlers Gray - | It almost touched the Lawns. | So low it leaned - then statelier drew - | And trailed like robes away; | A Queen adown a satin aisle, | Had not the majesty.»

«A face devoid of love or grace, | A hateful, hard, successful face, | A face with which a stone | Would feel as thoroughly at ease | As were they old acquaintances - | First time together thrown.»

«By a departing light | We see acuter, quite, | Than by a wick that stays. | There's something in the flight | That clarifies the sight | And decks the rays.»

«Consulting summer's clock, | But half the hours remain. | I ascertain it with a shock - | I shall not look again. | The second half of joy | Is shorter than the first. | The truth I do not dare to know | I muffle with a jest.»

«Death is like the insect | Menacing the tree, | Competent to kill it, | But decoyed may be. | Bait it with the balsam | Seek it with the saw, | Baffle, if it cost you | Everything you are. | | Then, if it have burrowed | Out of reach of skill - | Wring the tree and leave it. | 'Tis the vermin's will.»

«Did life's penurious length | Italicize it's sweetness, | The men that daily live | Would stand so deep in joy | That it would clog the cogs | Of that revolving reason | Whose esoteric belt | Protects our sanity.»

«Drowning is not so pitiful | As the attempt to rise. | Three times, 'tis said, a sinking man | Comes up to face the skies, | And then declines forever | To that abhorred abode, | Where hope and he part company - | For he is grasped by God. | The Maker's cordial visage, | However good to see, | Is shunned, we must admit it, | Like an adversity.»

«Had I known that the first was the last | I should have kept it longer. | Had I known that the last was the first | I should have mixed it stronger. | Cup, it was your fault, | Lip was not the liar. | No, lip it was your's, | Bliss was most to blame.»

«He was my host - he was my guest, | I never to this day | If I invited him could tell, | Or he invited me. | So infinite our intercourse | So intimate, indeed, | Analysis as capsule seemed | To keeper of the seed.»

«Conjecturing a Climate | Of unsuspended Suns - | Adds poignancy to Winter - | The freezing Fancy turns | To a fictitious Summer | To palliate a Cold - | Not obviated of Degree - | Nor eased - of Latitude.»

«When One has given up One's life | The parting with the rest | Feels easy, as when Day lets go | Entirely the West | The Peaks, that lingered last | Remain in Her regret | As scarcely as the Iodine | Upon the Cataract.»