I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes — Each — with a Robin’s expectation — I — with my Redbreast — And my Rhymes — Late — when I take my place in summer — But — I shall bring a fuller tune — Vespers — are sweeter […]
The grave my little cottage is, Where, keeping house for thee, I make my parlor orderly, And lay the marble tea, For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite In strong society. – Emily Dickinson
That it will never come again Is what makes life so sweet. Believing what we don’t believe Does not exhilarate. That if it be, it be at best An ablative estate— This instigates an appetite Precisely opposite. – Emily Dickinson
The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands. He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away. Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea,— […]
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given. Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)