Emily Dickinson

«Lay this Laurel on the one | Triumphed and remained unknown - | Laurel - fell your futile Tree - | Such a Victor could not be - | Lay this Laurel on the one | Too intrinsic for Renown - | Laurel - vail your deathless Tree - | Him you chasten - that is he.»

«Those - dying then, | Knew where they went - | They went to God's Right Hand - | That Hand is amputated now | And God cannot be found - | The abdication of Belief | Makes the Behavior small - | Better an ignis fatuus | Than no illume at all.»

«"Go tell it" - What a Message - | To whom - is specified - | Not murmur - not endearment - | But simply - we obeyed - | Obeyed - a Lure - a Longing? | Oh Nature - none of this - | To Law - said Sweet Thermopylae | I give my dying Kiss.»

«Bliss is the Plaything of the child - | The secret of the man | The sacred stealth of Boy and Girl | Rebuke it if we can.»

«Image of Light, Adieu - | Thanks for the interview - | So long - so short - | Preceptor of the whole - | Coeval Cardinal - | Impart - Depart.»

«I groped for him before I knew | With solemn nameless need | All other bounty sudden chaff | For this foreshadowed Food | Which others taste and spurn and sneer - | Though I within suppose | That consecrated it could be | The only Food that grows.»

«Lives he in any other world | My faith cannot reply | Before it was imperative | 'Twas all distinct to me.»

«To be forgot by thee | Surpasses Memory | Of other minds | The Heart cannot forget | Unless it contemplate | What it declines | I was regarded then | Raised from oblivion | A single time | To be remembered what - | Worthy to be forgot | My low renown.»

«Pass to thy Rendezvous of Light, | Pangless except for us - | Who slowly ford the Mystery | Which thou hast leaped across.»

«By homely gifts and hindered words | The human heart is told | Of nothing - | "Nothing" is the force | That renovates the World.»

«Her Losses make our Gains ashamed. | She bore Life's empty Pack | As gallantly as if the East | Were swinging at her Back - | Life's empty Pack is heaviest, | As every Porter knows - | In vain to punish Honey - | It only sweeter grows.»

«Climbing to reach the costly Hearts | To which he gave the worth, | He broke them, fearing punishment | He ran away from Earth.»

«Some Arrows slay but whom they strike, | But this slew all but him, | Who so appareled his Escape, | Too trackless for a Tomb.»

«The Clock strikes One | That just struck Two - | Some Schism in the Sum - | A Vagabond from Genesis | Has wrecked the Pendulum.»

«To see her is a picture | To hear her is a Tune | To know her an intemperance | As innocent as June | By which to be undone | Is dearer than Redemption - | Which never to receive | Makes mockery of melody | It might have been to live.»

«The Heart has many Doors - | I can but knock - | For any sweet "Come in" | Impelled to hark - | Not saddened by repulse, | Repast to me | That somewhere, there exists, | Supremacy.»

«To see her is a Picture - | To hear her is a Tune - | To know her an Intemperance | As innocent as June - | To know her not - Affliction - | To own her for a Friend | A warmth as near as if the Sun | Were shining in your Hand.»

«To the bright east she flies, | Brothers of Paradise | Remit her home, | Without a change of wings | Or Love's convenient things | Enticed to come. | Fashioning what she is, | Fathoming what she was, | We deem we dream - | And that dissolves the days | Through which existence strays | Homeless at home.»

«Forever honored be the Tree | Whose Apple Winterworn | Enticed to Breakfast from the Sky | Two Gabriels Yestermorn - | They registered in Nature's Book | As Robins - Sire and Son - | But Angels have that modest way | To screen them from Renown.»

«The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings - | Like fallow Article - | And not a song pervade his Lips - | Or none perceptible. | His small Umbrella quaintly halved | Describing in the Air | An Arc alike inscrutable | Elate Philosopher. | | Deputed from what Firmament - | Of what Astute Abode - | Empowered with what malignity | Auspiciously withheld - | | To his adroit Creator | Ascribe no less the praise - | Beneficent, believe me, | His eccentricities.»