In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen! — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee... — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon! — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Answer July- Where is the Bee- Where is the Blush- Where is the Hay? Ah, said July- Where is the Seed- Where… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
A soft Sea washed around the House A Sea of Summer Air And rose and fell the magic Planks That sailed without… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period - When March is scarcely here A Color stands abroad… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
“Could you tell me how to grow--or is it unconveyed--like Melody--or Witchcraft?” — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness - I’m so accustomed to my Fate - Perhaps the Other - Peace - Would interrupt the… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
“Inebriate of Air — am I — And Debauchee of Dew — Reeling — thro endless summer days — From Inns of Molten Blue —” — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
The abdication of Belief Makes the Behavior small- Better an ignis fatuus Than no illume at all. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
“He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
I SEE thee better in the dark, I do not need a light. The love of thee a prism be Excelling violet. I see… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
“Whose fingers string the stalactite- Who counts the Wampum of the night” — Emily Dickinson Copy Share
