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The face we choose to miss,
Be it but for a day—
As absent as a hundred years
When it has rode away.
Emily Dickinson
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Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect Where it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
Emily Dickinson
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If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
Emily Dickinson
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
Emily Dickinson
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A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
Emily Dickinson
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Beauty crowds me till I die. Beauty, mercy have on me! Yet if I expire to-day Let it be in sight of thee!
Emily Dickinson
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To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I They may take the trifle Termed mortality!
Emily Dickinson
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Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!
Emily Dickinson
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And when at Night - Our good Day done -
I guard My Master's Head -
'Tis better than the Eider Duck's
Deep Pillow - to have shared
Emily Dickinson
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The grass so little has to do,—
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain, And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything; And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,-
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing. And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine. And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were a hay!
Emily Dickinson
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A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork Without a Revery— And so encountering a Fly This January Day Jamaicas of Remembrance stir That send me reeling in.
Emily Dickinson
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We turn not older with years, but newer every day.
Emily Dickinson
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There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man.
It hurls its barbed syllables,—
At once is mute again.
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
Some epauletted brother
Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun,
Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
There is its victory!
Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
Is a soul forgot!
Emily Dickinson
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My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun —
In Corners — till a Day
The Owner passed — identified —
And carried Me away — And now We roam in Sovereign Woods —
And now We hunt the Doe —
And every time I speak for Him —
The Mountains straight reply —
Emily Dickinson
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These are the days when birds come back—
A very few—a bird or two—
To take a backward look.
These are the days when the skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.
Emily Dickinson
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
Emily Dickinson
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Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple Leaping like Leopards to the Sky... And the Juggler of Day is gone.
Emily Dickinson
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Good Morning — Midnight —
I'm coming Home —
Day—got tired of Me —
How could I — of Him?
Emily Dickinson
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Eden is that old-fashioned house
We dwell in every day
Without suspecting our abode
Until we drive away.
Emily Dickinson
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Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play — In accidental power — The blonde Assassin passes on — The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
Emily Dickinson
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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live that day.
Emily Dickinson
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Inebriate of Air — am I —
And Debauchee of Dew—
Reeling—through endless summer days —
From inns of Molten Blue—
Emily Dickinson
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Some Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie,
The Day that a companion came—
Or was obliged to die.
Emily Dickinson
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I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You'll know it by the rows of stars around it's forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; yet to my frugal eye of more esteem than ducats. Oh! Find it, sir, for me!
Emily Dickinson
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I SEE thee better in the dark, I do not need a light. The love of thee a prism be Excelling violet. I see thee better for the years That hunch themselves between, The miner's lamp sufficient be To nullify the mine. And in the grave I see thee best— Its little panels be A-glow, all ruddy with the light I held so high for thee! What need of day to those whose dark Hath so surpassing sun, It seem it be continually At the meridian?
Emily Dickinson
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I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep." I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
Emily Dickinson
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Friday I tasted life. It was a vast morsel. A Circus passed the house—still I feel the red in my mind though the drums are out. The Lawn is full of south and the odours tangle, and I hear to-day for the first time the river in the tree.
Emily Dickinson
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Since then — 'tis Centuries — and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity —
Emily Dickinson
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It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fit the same,
The mornings blossom into noons,
And split their pods of flame. Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
The brooks brag all the day;
No blackbird bates his jargoning
For passing Calvary. Auto-da-fé and judgment
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.
Emily Dickinson
Quote of the day
The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.
Louise Bogan
Emily Dickinson
Creative Commons
Born:
December 10, 1830
Died:
May 15, 1886
(aged 55)
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