Emily Dickinson

The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

A charm invests a faceImperfectly beheld,__he lady dare not lift her veilFor fear it be dispelled.But peers beyond her mesh,And wishes, and denies,__est interview annul a wantThat image satisfies.

Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant/Success in Circuit lies...

The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind__s if my Brain had split__ tried to match it__eam by Seam__ut could not make it fit.The thought behind, I strove to joinUnto the thought before__ut Sequence ravelled out of SoundLike Balls__pon a Floor.

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.

Heart, we will forget him,You and I, tonight!You must forget the warmth he gave,I will forget the light.

Not with a club, the Heart is brokenNor with a Stone __ Whip so small you could not see itI've known

Split the Lark__nd you'll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.

and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground _ because I am afraid _

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 RaceWrecked, 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 _

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 robinUnto his nest again,I shall not live in vain.

Water is taught by thirst;Land, by the oceans passed;Transport, by throe;Peace, by its battles told;Love, by memorial mould;Birds, by the snow.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.

your brain is wider than the sky

THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire,He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her.Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door,To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.

The Soul selects her own Society.