Emily Dickinson - Sun Quotes

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A Grave — is a restricted Breadth —
Yet ampler than the Sun —
And all the Seas He populates
And lands he looks upon To Him who on its small Repose
Bestows a single Friend —
Circumference without Relief —
Or Estimate — or End

Emily Dickinson
Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.

Emily Dickinson
She died—this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

Emily Dickinson
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
I reckon—when I count at all —
First — Poets — Then the Sun —
Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God —
And then—the List is done —
But, looking back—the First so seems To Comprehend the Whole —
The Others look a needless Show—
So I write — Poets—All —

Emily Dickinson
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
I'll tell you how the Sun rose —
A Ribbon at a time—

Emily Dickinson
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats —
And Saints—to windows run —
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the — Sun—

Emily Dickinson
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 the Sun Were shining in your Hand.

Emily Dickinson
The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.

Emily Dickinson
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
Alter! When the Hills do —
Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One —
Surfeit! When the Daffodil Doth of the Dew—
Even as Herself—Sir —
I will—of You—

Emily Dickinson
How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And does n't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

Emily Dickinson
LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!

Emily Dickinson
There is a Zone whose even Years
No Solstice interrupt -
Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon
Whose perfect Seasons wait -
Whose Summer set in Summer, till
The Centuries of June
And Centuries of August cease
And Consciousness - is Noon.

Emily Dickinson
As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved -

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.

Emily Dickinson