Top highlights from The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.
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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.
emily dickinson,
The Collected Poems of
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The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.
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Those who have not found the heaven below,will fail of it above.
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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.
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That it will never come againIs what makes life so sweet.
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Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself, Its infinite realms contain Its past, enlightened to perceive New periods of pain.
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The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-
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The Brainis wider than the Sky
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The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, T were easier for you To put the water back When floods have slit the hills,And scooped a turnpike for themselves, And blotted out the mills!
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Forever is composed of Nows Tis not a different time Except for Infiniteness And Latitude of Home
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The Darkfelt beautiful
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To wander now is my abode; To rest,to rest would be A privilege of hurricane To memory and me.
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Down Times quaint stream Without an oar, We are enforced to sail, Our Porta secret Our Perchancea gale. What Skipper would Incur the risk, What Buccaneer would ride, Without a surety from the wind Or schedule of the tide?
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I had a daily bliss I half indifferent viewed, Till sudden I perceived it stir, It grew as I pursued, Till when, around a crag, It wasted from my sight, Enlarged beyond my utmost scope, I learned its sweetness right.
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Experiment to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel? The figure of a nut Presents upon a tree, Equally plausibly; But meat within is requisite, To squirrels and to me.
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I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine And ask my business there. My business,just a life I left, Was such still dwelling there?
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For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy. For each beloved hour Sharp pittances of years, Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.
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A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself, T is that I cannot say; I only sigh,no vehicle Bears me along that way.
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Safe Despair it is that ravesAgony is frugal.Puts itself severe awayFor its own perusal.
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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,And Mourners to and froKept treading - treading - till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through -And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum -Kept beating - beating - till I thoughtMy mind was going numb -And then I heard them lift a BoxAnd creak across my SoulWith those same Boots of Lead, again,Then Space - began to toll,As all the Heavens were a Bell,And Being, but an Ear,And I, and Silence, some strange Race,Wrecked, solitary, here -And then a Plank in Reason, broke,And I dropped down, and down -And hit a World, at every plunge,And Finished knowing - then -
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Victory comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost To take it.
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Sweet hours have perished here; This is a mighty room; Within its precincts hopes have played, Now shadows in the tomb.
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I breathed enough to learn the trick, And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must descend Among the cunning cells, And touch the pantomime himself. How cool the bellows feels!
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Read, sweet, how others strove,Till we are stouter;What they renounced,Till we are less afraid;How many times they boreThe faithful witness,Till we are helped,As if a kingdom cared!Read then of faithThat shone above the fagot;Clear strains of hymnThe river could not drown;Brave names of menAnd celestial women,Passed out of recordInto renown!
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Come slowly, Eden! Lips unused to thee, Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee, Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectarsenters, And is lost in balms!
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The Hills erect their purple heads,The Rivers lean to seeYet Man has not, of all the throng,A curiosity.
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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.
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Peril as a possession T is good to bear, Danger disintegrates satiety; Theres Basis there Begets an awe, That searches Human Natures creases As clean as Fire.
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eISBN: 9781542022064 Series
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To pile like Thunder to its close, Then crumble grand away, While everything created hid This would be Poetry: Or Love, the two coeval came We both and neither prove, Experience either, and consume For none see God and live.
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