She rose to his requirement, dropped The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still... I can feel a… — 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
I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing - The spring decoys. And as the summer nears - And… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom… — 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
