The sweets of pillage can be known To no one but the thief, Compassion for integrity Is his divinest grief. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, the simple news that nature told, with tender majesty. Her… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
“Sweet hour, blessed hour, to carry me to you, and to bring you back to me, long enough to snatch one kiss,… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand When we with Daisies lie- That Commerce will continue- And Trades as briskly fly. — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness - I’m so accustomed to my Fate - Perhaps the Other - Peace - Would… — 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
