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How the old mountains drip with sunset,
And the brake of dun!
How the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel
By the wizard sun!

How the old steeples hand the scarlet,
Till the ball is full, --
Have I the lip of the flamingo
That I dare to tell?

Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,
Touching all the grass
With a departing, sapphire feature,
As if a duchess pass!

How a small dusk crawls on the village
Till the houses blot;
And the odd flambeaux no men carry
Glimmer on the spot!

Now it is night in nest and kennel,
And where was the wood,
Just a dome of abyss is nodding
Into solitude! --

These are the visions baffled Guido;
Titian never told;
Domenichino dropped the pencil,
Powerless to unfold.


Emily Dickinson

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A great hope fell
You heard no noise
The ruin was within.
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True Poems flee—
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EMILY DICKINSON
To live is so starling it leaves little time for anything else.
EMILY DICKINSON
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
EMILY DICKINSON
The fog is rising.
EMILY DICKINSON
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb -- or Dome of Worm -- or Porch of Gnome -- or some Elf's...
EMILY DICKINSON
I am going to learn to make bread tomorrow. So if you may imagine me with my sleeves rolled up, mixi...
EMILY DICKINSON
There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetr...
EMILY DICKINSON
He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor t...
EMILY DICKINSON
If I can stop one heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease on Life the Achin...
EMILY DICKINSON
His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of ...
EMILY DICKINSON
Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From ...
EMILY DICKINSON
The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes ...
EMILY DICKINSON
Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. 'Ti...
EMILY DICKINSON
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
EMILY DICKINSON
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the...
EMILY DICKINSON
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
EMILY DICKINSON
Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid -- as easy the secreting her behind the Eye...
EMILY DICKINSON
A word is dead when it is said. Some say. I say it just, begins to live that day.
EMILY DICKINSON
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
EMILY DICKINSON
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
EMILY DICKINSON
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
EMILY DICKINSON
I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut bur; and...
EMILY DICKINSON
I'm nobody, who are you?
EMILY DICKINSON