Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Elizabeth Dickinsonwas an American poet. Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts. Although part of a prominent family with strong ties to its community, Dickinson lived much of her life highly introverted. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst. Considered an eccentric by locals, she developed a noted penchant for white clothing and became known for her reluctance to...
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth10 December 1830
CityAmherst, MA
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest room, If in that room a friend await Felicity of doom.
I died for Beauty--but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room
Does not Eternity appear dreadful to you. I often get to thinking of it and it seems so dark to me that I almost wish there was no Eternity. To think that we must forever live and never cease to be. It seems as if Death would be a relief to so endless a state of existence.
Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.
Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.
Victory comes late-- And is held low to freezing lips-- Too rapt with frost To take it
The Heart asks Pleasure--first-- And then--Excuse from Pain
Fearless--the cobweb swings from the ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!
A Clock stopped-- Not the Mantel's-- Geneva's farthest skill Can't put the puppet bowing-- That just now dangled still
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!
Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
To see her is a picture- To hear her is a tune- To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June- To know her not-Affliction- To own her for a Friend A warmth as near as if the the Sun Were shining in your Hand.
This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---