Emily Dickinson

Not __evelation_ _ tis _ that waitsBut our unfurnished eyes _

So bashful when I spied her!So pretty _ so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find __o breathless till I passed her __o helpless when I turnedAnd bore her struggling, blushing,Her simple haunts beyond!For whom I robbed the Dingle __or whom betrayed the Dell __any, will doubtless ask me,But I shall never tell!

Beauty is not caused. It is.

Bless God, he went as soldiers,His musket on his breast__rant God, he charge the bravestOf all the martial blest!Please God, might I behold himIn epauletted white__ should not fear the foe then__ should not fear the fight!

This is my letter to the worldThat never wrote to me

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

We never know how high we areTill we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan,Our statures touch the skies.The heroism we reciteWould be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the cubits warpFor fear to be a king.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't isTo meet an antique bookIn just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And warming in our own,A passage back, or two, to makeTo times when he was young.His quaint opinions to inspect,His knowledge to unfoldOn what concerns our mutual mind,The literature of old...

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant--Success in Circuit liesToo bright for our infirm DelightThe Truth's superb surpriseAs Lightning to the Children easedWith explanation kindThe Truth must dazzle graduallyOr every man be blind--

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.

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.

Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Nature's West -

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

There is no Frigate like a book.

THERE is no frigate like a book/ To take us lands away...

There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.