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A Light Exists In Spring Not Present On The Year At Any Other Period - When March Is Scarcely Here A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Fields That Science Cannot Overtake But Human Nature Feels. It Waits Upon The Lawn, It Shows The Furthest Tree Upon The Furthest Slope You Know It Almost Speaks To You. Then As Horizons Step Or Noons Report Away Without The Formula Of Sound It Passes And We Stay - A Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content As Trade Had Suddenly Encroached Upon A Sacrament.

-Emily Dickinson

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A Light Exists In

Emily Dickinson

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A Light Exists In Spring Not Present On The Year At Any Other Period - When March Is Scarcely Here A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Fields That Science Cannot Overtake But Human Nature Feels. It Waits Upon The Lawn, It Shows The Furthest Tree Upon The Furthest Slope You Know It Almost Speaks To You. Then As Horizons Step Or Noons Report Away Without The Formula Of Sound It Passes And We Stay - A Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content As Trade Had Suddenly Encroached Upon A Sacrament.

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I Hope Your Rambles Have Been Sweet, And Your Reveries Spacious

... I Have No Letter From The Dead, Yet Daily Love Them More.

But A Book Is Only The Heart's Portrait- Every Page A Pulse.

Hope Is A Strange Invention - A Patent Of The Heart - In Unremitting Action Yet Never Wearing Out

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.

To Be Alive Is Power; Existence In Itself; Without A Further Function; Omnipotence.

The Things Of Which We Want The Proof Are Those We Know The Best.

The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound -- And Would As Soon Surmise As In Its Grave Go Plumbing To Ascertain The Size -- The Loneliness Whose Worst Alarm Is Lest Itself Should See -- And Perish From Before Itself For Just A Scrutiny -- The Horror Not To Be Surveyed -- But Skirted In The Dark -- With Consciousness Suspended -- And Being Under Lock -- I Fear Me This -- Is Loneliness -- The Maker Of The Soul Its Caverns And Its Corridors Illuminate -- Or Seal

That It Will Never Come Again Is What Makes Life Sweet.

I Work To Drive The Awe Away, Yet Awe Impels The Work.

There Is No Frigate Like A Book To Take Us Lands Away Nor Any Coursers Like A Page Of Prancing Poetry.

God's Little Blond Blessing We Have Long Deemed You, And Hope His So-called Will Will Not Compel Him To Revoke You.

Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality.

Elysium Is As Far As To The Very Nearest Room, If In That Room A Friend Await Felicity Of Doom.

I Hope You Love Birds Too. It Is Economical. It Saves Going To Heaven.

Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something, It Is What It Is.

It Is What It Is

The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though] He Is Presumed To Know.

Positive Atheism

One Need Not Be A Chamber - To Be Haunted - One Need Not Be A House - The Brain - Has Corridors - Surpassing Material Place - Far Safer, Of A Midnight - Meeting External Ghost - Than An Interior - Confronting - That Cooler - Host. Far Safer, Through An Abbey - Gallop - The Stones A'chase - Than Moonless - One's A'self Encounter - In Lonesome Place - Ourself - Behind Ourself - Concealed - Should Startle - Most.

An Altered Look About The Hills; A Tyrian Light The Village Fills; A Wider Sunrise In The Dawn; A Deeper Twilight On The Lawn; A Print Of A Vermilion Foot; A Purple Finger On The Slope; A Flippant Fly Upon The Pane; A Spider At His Trade Again; An Added Strut In Chanticleer; A Flower Expected Everywhere.

I See Thee Better In The Dark I Do Not Need A Light.

I Have A Bird In Spring Which For Myself Doth Sing - The Spring Decoys. And As The Summer Nears - And As The Rose Appears, Robin Is Gone. Yet Do I Not Repine Knowing That Bird Of Mine Though Flown - Learneth Beyond The Sea Melody New For Me And Will Return.

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

A Murmur In The Trees - To Note - Not Loud Enough - For Wind - A Star - Not Far Enough To Seek - Nor Near Enough - To Find

It Is Essential To The Sanity Of Mankind That Each One Should Think The Other Crazy - A Condition With Which The Cynicism Of Human Nature So Cordially Complies, One Could Wish It Were A Concurrence Upon A Subject More Noble.

Some Keep The Sabbath Going To Church, I Keep It Staying At Home, With A Bobolink For A Chorister, And An Orchard For A Dome.

If I Shouldn't Be Alive When The Robins Come, Give The One In Red Cravat, A Memorial Crumb.

Not If Their Party Were Waiting, Not If To Talk With Me Were To Them Now, Homesickness After Eternity.

Friends Are Nations In Themselves.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To Meet An Antique Book, In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege I Think.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose, A Ribbon At A Time. The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Ran. The Hills Untied Their Bonnets, The Bobolinks Begun. Then I Said Softly To Myself, "that Must Have Been The Sun!

... And Then I Heard Them Lift A Box, And Creak Across My Soul With Those Same Boots Of Lead, Again, Then Space Began To Toll.

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—

The Mountain At A Given Distance In Amber Lies; Approached, The Amber Flits A Little,-- And That's The Skies!

The Brain - Is Wider Than The Sky - For - Put Them Side By Side - The One The Other Will Contain With Ease - And You - Beside - The Brain Is Deeper Than The Sea - For- Hold Them - Blue To Blue - The One The Other Will Absorb - As Sponges - Buckets - Do - The Brain Is Just The Weight Of God - For - Heft Them - Pound For Pound - And They Will Differ - If They Do - As Syllable From Sound.

How Frugal Is The Chariot That Bears A Human Soul.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is To Meet An Antique Book In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege, I Think, His Venerable Hand To Take, And Warming In Our Own, A Passage Back, Or Two, To Make To Times When He Was Young. His Quaint Opinions To Inspect, His Knowledge To Unfold On What Concerns Our Mutual Mind, The Literature Of Old.

Nature Is What We See - The Hill, The Afternoon, Squirrel, Eclipse, The Bumblebee. Nay, Nature Is Heaven. Nature Is What We Hear...

The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From Pain

I Hide Myself Within My Flower That Wearing On Your Breast, You, Unsuspecting, Wear Me Too - And Angels Know The Rest. I Hide Myself Within My Flower, That, Fading From Your Vase, You, Unsuspecting, Feel For Me Almost A Loneliness.

You Remember My Ideal Cat Has Always A Huge Rat In Its Mouth, Just Going Out Of Sight - Though Going Out Of Sight In Itself Has A Peculiar Pleasure.

The Heart Asks Pleasure First, And Then, Excuse From Pain; And Then, Those Little Anodynes That Deaden Suffering; And Then, To Go To Sleep; And Then, If It Should Be The Will Of Its Inquisitor, The Liberty To Die.

Proud Of My Broken Heart Since Thou Didst 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.

The Distance That The Dead Have Gone Does Not At First Appear- Their Coming Back Seems Possible For Many An Ardent Year.

I Tasted - Careless - Then - I Did Not Know The Wine Came Once A World - Did You? Oh, Had You Told Me So - This Thirst Would Blister - Easier - Now

Truth - Is As Old As God-.

A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.

Action Is Redemption.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul.

Why Should We Censure Othello When The Criterion Lover Says, "thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me"?

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.

My Friends Are My Estate. Forgive Me Then The Avarice To Hoard Them!

Not Knowing When The Dawn Will Come I Open Every Door.

You Can Stay Young As Long As You Learn.

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

I Dwell In Possibility.

She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades -- How Glittering They Shone -- And Every One Unbared A Nerve Or Wantoned With A Bone -- She Never Deemed -- She Hurt -- That -- Is Not Steel's Affair -- A Vulgar Grimace In The Flesh -- How Ill The Creatures Bear -- To Ache Is Human -- Not Polite -- The Film Upon The Eye Mortality's Old Custom -- Just Locking Up -- To Die.

The Pedigree Of Honey Does Not Concern The Bee; A Clover, Any Time, To Him Is Aristocracy.

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, I Shall Not Live In Vain.

The Power To Console Is Not Within Corporeal Reach - Though Its Attempt Is Precious.

The Truth Dazzles Gradually, Or Else The World Would Be Blind.

You'll Find It-when You Try To Die- The Easier To Let Go- For Recollecting Such As Went- You Could Not Spare-you Know.

Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

The Dandelion's Pallid Tube Astonishes The Grass, And Winter Instantly Becomes An Infinite Alas.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

I Stepped From Plank To Plank So Slow And Cautiously; The Stars About My Head I Felt, About My Feet The Sea. I Knew Not But The Next Would Be My Final Inch,— This Gave Me That Precarious Gait Some Call Experience.

A Little Madness In The Spring Is Wholesome Even For The King, But God Be With The Clown, Who Ponders This Tremendous Scene-- This Whole Experiment In Green, As If It Were His Own!

Nature Is A Haunted House--but Art--is A House That Tries To Be Haunted.

Witchcraft Was Hung, In History, But History And I Find All The Witchcraft That We Need Around Us, Every Day -

Does Not Eternity Appear Dreadful To You. I Often Get To Thinking Of It And It Seems So Dark To Me That I Almost Wish There Was No Eternity. To Think That We Must Forever Live And Never Cease To Be. It Seems As If Death Would Be A Relief To So Endless A State Of Existence.

My Life Had Stood - A Loaded Gun - In Corners - Till A Day The Owner Passed - Identified - And Carried Me Away -

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking…” Emily Dickinson If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, I Shall Not Live In Vain; If I Can Ease One Life The Aching, Or Cool One Pain, Or Help One Fainting Robin Unto His Nest Again, I Shall Not Live In Vain.

When I State Myself, As The Representative Of The Verse, It Does Not Mean Me, But A Supposed Person.

The Will Is Always Near, Dear, Though The Feet Vary.

I Would Like More Sisters, That The Taking Out Of One, Might Not Leave Such Stillness.

They Say That 'home Is Where The Heart Is.' I Think It Is Where The House Is, And The Adjacent Buildings.

The Life We Have Is Very Great. The Life That We Shall See Surpasses It, We Know, Because It Is Infinity, But When All Space Has Been Beheld And All Dominion Shown The Smallest Human Heart's Extent Reduces It To None.

I Was Almost Persuaded To Be A Christian. I Thought I Never Again Could Be Thoughtless And Worldly. But I Soon Forgot My Morning Prayer Or Else It Was Irksome To Me. One By One My Old Habits Returned And I Cared Less For Religion Than Ever.

Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate. The Soul Cannot Be Rid - As Easy The Secreting Her Behind The Eyes Of God.

God, Keep Me From What They Call 'households,'

Forever Is Comprised Of Nows.

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.

Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I With Thee Wild Nights Should Be Our Luxury! Futile – The Winds – To A Heart In Port – Done With The Compass – Done With The Chart! Rowing In Eden – Ah, The Sea! Might I Moor – Tonight – In Thee!

I Don't Profess To Be Profound; But I Do Lay Claim To Common Sense.

Words Of Wisdom

Opinion Is A Flitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun.

To Lose What We Have Never Owned Might Seem An Eccentric Bereavement, But Presumption Has Its Own Affliction As Well As Claim.

You Are Out Of The Way Of Temptation And Out Of The Way Of The Tempter - I Didn't Mean To Make You Wicked - But I Was - And Am - And Shall Be - And I Was With You So Much That I Couldn't Help Contaminate.

The Revery Alone Will Do If Bees Are Few.

Not To Discover Weakness Is The Artifice Of Strength.

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!

Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss, I Must Not Put My Foot Amiss For Fear I Spoil My Shoe? I'd Rather Suit My Foot Than Save My Boot -- For Yet To Buy Another Pair Is Possible, At Any Store -- But Bliss, Is Sold Just Once. The Patent Lost None Buy It Any More --

The Truth Never Flaunted A Sign.

Positive Atheism

Somewhere In My Soul A Thought Went Up In My Mind Today That I Have Had Before, But Did Not Finish, Some Way Back, I Could Not Fix The Year. Nor Where It Went, Nor Why It Came The Second Time To Me, Nor Definetly What It Was, Have I The Art To Say. But Somewhere In My Soul, I Know I've Met The Thing Before; It Just Reminded Me-' Twas All'-and Came My Way No More.

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?

After A Hundred Years Nobody Knows The Place, Agony, That Enacted There, Motionless As Peace.

The Past Is Such A Curious Creature To Look Her In The Face A Transport May Receipt Us Or A Disgrace-.

Good Times Are Always Mutual; That Is What Makes Good Times.

Remorse Is Memory Awake.

Further In Summer Than The Birds Pathetic From The Grass A Minor Nation Celebrates Its Unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance Be Seen So Gradual The Grace A Pensive Custom It Becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest Felt At Noon When August Burning Low Arise This Spectral Canticle Repose To Typify Remit As Yet No Grace No Furrow On The Glow Yet A Druidic Difference Enhances Nature Now.

Love Is Done When Loves Begun, Sages Say, But Have Sages Known?

Memory Is A Strange Bell—jubilee, And Knell.

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

To Travel Far, There Is No Better Ship Than A Book.

A Dim Capacity For Wings Demeans The Dress I Wear.

Faith Is A Fine Invention When Gentlemen Can See, But Microscopes Are Prudent In An Emergency.

I Took My Power In My Hand -- And Went Against The World -- 'twas Not So Much As David -- Had -- But I -- Was Twice As Bold -- I Aimed By Pebble -- But Myself Was All The One That Fell -- Was It Goliath -- Was Too Large -- Or Was Myself -- Too Small?

Eden Is That Old-fashioned House We Dwell In Every Day Without Suspecting Our Abode Until We Drive Away.

We Turn Not Older With Years But Newer Every Day.

I Do Not Feel I Could Give Up All For Christ, Were I Called To Die.

If Aims Impel These Astral Ones The Ones Allowed To Know Know That Which Makes Them As Forgot As Dawn Forgets Them Now

The Bustle In A House The Morning After Death Is Solemnest Of Industries Enacted Upon Earth,-- The Sweeping Up The Heart, And Putting Love Away We Shall Not Want To Use Again Until Eternity

The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make Me Regret I Am Not A Bee.

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

A Great Hope Fell You Heard No Noise The Ruin Was Within.

A Sick Room Is At Times Too Sacred A Place For A Friend's Knock, Timid As That Is.

We Do Not Play On Graves— Because There Isn't Room— Besides—it Isn't Even—it Slants And People Come— And Put A Flower On It— And Hang Their Faces So— We're Fearing That Their Hearts Will Drop— And Crush Our Pretty Play— And So We Move As Far As Enemies—away— Just Looking Round To See How Far It Is—occasionally—

Inebriate Of Air Am I, And Debauchee Of Dew, Reeling, Through Endless Summer Days, From Inns Of Molten Blue.

To Ignore Or Use Silence Is A Cruel Tool. Hence This Quote: Silence Is All We Dread; There's Ransom In A Voice; But Silence Is Infinity.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose.

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass Occasionally Rides

The Supernatural Is Only The Natural Disclosed.

The Last Of Summer Is Delight - Deterred By Retrospect. 'tis Ecstasy's Revealed Review - Enchantment's Syndicate. To Meet It - Nameless As It Is - Without Celestial Mail - Audacious As Without A Knock To Walk Within The Veil.

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind- As If My Brain Had Split- I Tried To Match It- Seam By Seam- But Could Not Make It Fit.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul, And Sings The Tune Without The Words, And Never Stops At All, And Sweetest In The Gale Is Heard; And Sore Must Be The Storm That Could Abash The Little Bird That Kept So Many Warm. I've Heard It In The Chilliest Land And On The Strangest Sea; Yet, Never, In Extremity, It Asked A Crumb Of Me.

Unto A Broken Heart No Other One May Go Without The High Prerogative Itself Hath Suffered Too.

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?

The Older I Grow The More Do I Love Spring And Spring Flowers. Is It So With You?

The Vastest Earthly Day Is Shrunken Small By One Defaulting Face Behind A Pall.

I Must Go In, The Fog Is Rising.

Publication - Is The Auction Of The Mind.

I Never Lost As Much But Twice, And That Was In The Sod.

Not 'revelation'-'tis That Waits/ But Our Unfurnished Eyes

Love Is Everything. And That's All We Know About It.

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

Afraid? Of Whom Am I Afraid? Not Death. For Who Is He?

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.

To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave— But Gallanter, I Know Who Charge Within The Bosom The Cavalry Of Wo— Who Win, And Nations Do Not See— Who Fall — And None Observe — Whose Dying Eyes, No Country Regards With Patriot Love— We Trust, In Plumed Procession For Such, The Angels Go— Rank After Rank, With Even Feet— And Uniforms Of Snow.

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead.

Till The First Friend Dies, We Think Our Ecstasy Impersonal, But Then Discover That He Was The Cup From Which We Drank It, Itself As Yet Unknown.

What Soft--cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen Are-- One Would As Soon Assault A Plush-- Or Violate A Star

Best Witchcraft Is Geometry To The Magician's Mind - His Ordinary Acts Are Feats To Thinking Of Mankind.

Answer July- Where Is The Bee- Where Is The Blush- Where Is The Hay? Ah, Said July- Where Is The Seed- Where Is The Bud- Where Is The May- Answer Thee-me-

I Had No Time To Hate, Because The Grave Would Hinder Me, And Life Was Not So Ample I Could Finish Enmity Nor Had I Time To Love: But Since Some Industry Must Be, The Little Toil Of Love, I Thought, Was Large Enough For Me.

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, Winter Afternoons— That Oppresses, Like The Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, It Gives Us— We Can Find No Scar, But Internal Difference, Where The Meanings, Are.... When It Comes, The Landscape Listens— Shadows—hold Their Breath— When It Goes, 'tis Like The Distance On The Look Of Death.

I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb, When One Who Died For Truth Was Lain In An Adjoining Room. He Questioned Softly Why I Failed? "for Beauty," I Replied. "and I For Truth, The Two Are One; We Brethren Are," He Said. And So, As Kinsmen Met A Night, We Talked Between The Rooms, Until The Moss Had Reached Our Lips, And Covered Up Our Names.

Till I Loved I Never Lived.

It Was A Quiet Way - He Asked If I Was His - I Made No Answer Of The Tongue But Answer Of The Eyes - And Then He Bore Me On Before This Mortal Noise With Swiftness, As Of Chariots And Distance, As Of Wheels. This World Did Drop Away As Acres From The Feet Of One That Leaneth From Balloon Upon An Ether Street. The Gulf Behind Was Not, The Continents Were New - Eternity Was Due. No Seasons Were To Us - It Was Not Night Nor Morn - But Sunrise Stopped Upon The Place And Fastened In Dawn.

If I Feel Physically As If The Top Of My Head Were Taken Off, I Know That Is Poetry.

They Say That “time Assuages” - Time Never Did Assuage - An Actual Suffering Strengthens As Sinews Do, With Age - Time Is A Test Of Trouble - But Not A Remedy - If Such It Prove, It Prove Too There Was No Malady

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.

They Say That God Is Everywhere, And Yet We Always Think Of Him As Somewhat Of A Recluse.

Those Who Have Not Found The Heaven Below, Will Fail Of It Above.

Just A Turn Of The Doorknob, And There Lies Freedom.

After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes — The Nerves Sit Ceremonious, Like Tombs — The Stiff Heart Questions Was It He, That Bore, And Yesterday, Or Centuries Before? The Feet, Mechanical, Go Round — Of Ground, Or Air, Or Ought — A Wooden Way Regardless Grown, A Quartz Contentment, Like A Stone — This Is The Hour Of Lead — Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow — First — Chill — Then Stupor — Then The Letting Go —

You Are Nipping In The Bud Fancies Which I Let Blossom. The Shore Is Safer, But I Love To Buffet The Sea - I Can Count The Bitter Wrecks Here In These Pleasant Waters, And Hear The Murmuring Winds, But Oh, I Love The Danger!

[a] Mother Is One To Whom You Hurry When You Are Troubled.

Mother Daughter

Nothing More Do I Ask Than To Share With You The Ecstasy And Sacrament Of My Life.

Hope . . . Never Stops At All.

Spring's First Conviction Is A Wealth Beyond Its Whole Experience.

I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road A Robber'd Like The Look Of,-- Wooden Barred, And Windows Hanging Low

November Always Seemed To Me The Norway Of The Year.

Assent - And You Are Sane - Demur - And You're Straightaway Dangerous - And Handled With A Chain.

The Service Without Hope Is Tenderest, I Think-- ... There Is No Diligence Like That That Knows Not An Until

March Is The Month Of Expectation, The Things We Do Not Know, The Persons Of Prognostication Are Coming Now. We Try To Sham Becoming Firmness, But Pompous Joy Betrays Us, As His First Betrothal Betrays A Boy.

Pain - Has An Element Of Blank It Cannot Recollect When It Begun - Or If There Were A Time When It Was Not - It Has No Future - But Itself - Its Infinite Contain Its Past - Enlightened To Perceive New Periods - Of Pain.

Portrait The World Spreads Out On Either Side No Farther Than The Heart Is Wide.

They Address An Eclipse Every Morning, Whom They Call Their "father."

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.

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.

There Is A Solitude Of Space. A Solitude Of Sea. A Solitude Of Death, But These Societies Shall Be Compared With That Profounder Site-that Polar Privacy. A Soul Admitted To Itself--finite Infinity.

Victory Comes Late-- And Is Held Low To Freezing Lips-- Too Rapt With Frost To Take It

Forever Is Composed Of Nows.

Suspense-is Hostiler Than Death-death- Tho Soever Broad, Is Just Death, And Cannot Increase- Suspense-does Not Conclude-.

Beauty Is Just A Light Switch Away...'click!' Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

Noon - Is The Hinge Of Day-.

The Only Commandment I Ever Obeyed — 'consider The Lilies.

The Sailor Cannot See The North / But Knows The Needle Can.

The Poet Lights The Light And Fades Away. But The Light Goes On And On.

A Letter Is A Joy Of Earth - It Is Denied The Gods

No Ladder Needs The Bird But Skies To Situate Its Wings, Nor Any Leaders Grim Baton Arraigns It As It Sings.

Existence Has Overpowered Books. Today I Slew A Mushroom.

Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup.

Whenever A Thing Is Done For The First Time, It Releases A Little Demon.

This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow- First-chill-then Stupor- Then The Letting Go---

Forever Is Composed Of Nows 'tis Not A Different Time Except For Infiniteness And Latitude Of Home

The Career Of Flowers Differs From Ours Only Inaudibleness.

I Am One Of The Lingering Bad Ones, And So Do I Slink Away, And Pause, And Ponder, And Ponder, And Pause, And Do Work Without Knowing Why - Not Surely For This Brief World, And More Sure It Is Not For Heaven - And I Ask What This Message Of Christ Means.

Behold This Little Bane- The Boon Of All Alive- As Common As It Is Unknown The Name Of It Is Love.

I Do Not Know The Man So Bold He Dare In Lonely Place That Awful Stranger Consciousness Deliberately Face-.

We Dream — It Is Good We Are Dreaming — It Would Hurt Us — Were We Awake — But Since It Is Playing — Kill Us, And We Are Playing — Shriek — What Harm? Men Die — Externally — It Is A Truth — Of Blood — But We — Are Dying In Drama — And Drama — Is Never Dead — Cautious — We Jar Each Other — And Either — Open The Eyes — Lest The Phantasm — Prove The Mistake — And The Livid Surprise Cool Us To Shafts Of Granite — With Just An Age — And Name — And Perhaps A Phrase In Egyptian — It's Prudenter — To Dream —

Drunkards Of Summer Are Quite As Frequent As Drunkards Of Wine.

The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Swam.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

There Is Always One Thing To Be Grateful For - That One Is One's Self And Not Somebody Else.

Mine Enemy Is Growing Old -- I Have At Last Revenge -- The Palate Of The Hate Departs -- If Any Would Avenge Let Him Be Quick -- The Viand Flits -- It Is A Faded Meat -- Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead -- 'tis Starving Makes It Fat

Finite To Fail, But Infinite To Venture.

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