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
Luck is not chance, it is toil. Fortune is expensive smile is earned.
His Labor is a Chant -- his Idleness -- a Tune -- oh, for a Bee's experience of Clovers, and of Noon!
The dandelion's pallid tube/ Astonishes the grass,/ And winter instantly becomes/ An infinite alas.
And Something's odd - within -That person that I was - And this One - do not feel the same - Could it be Madness - this?
Truth is such a rare thing, it is a delight to tell it.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.
I must go in, the fog is rising.
I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.
The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.
Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag to-day Can tell the definition So clear of victory, As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear.
Longing is like a seed that wrestles in the ground
So few that live have life ...
To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.