Twas my one glory -
Let it be
I was owned of Thee.
This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, the simple news that nature told, with tender majesty. Her message is committed, to hands I cannot see; for love of her, sweet countrymen, judge tenderly of me.
She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.
Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod.
Volcanoes be in Sicily
And South America
I judge from my Geography --
Volcanoes nearer here
A lava step at any time
Am I inclined to climb --
A Crater I may contemplate
Vesuvius at Home.
A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.
That Love is all there is
Is all we know of Love,
It is enough, the freight should be
Proportioned to the groove.
I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious.
Remorse is memory awake.
The mountain at a given distance In amber lies; Approached, the amber flits a little, -- And that's the skies!
Memory is a strange Bell--Jubilee, and Knell.
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being's road, Eternity by term.
Other Courtesies have been -
Other Courtesy may be -
We commend ourselves to thee
Paragon of Chivalry.
I have a brother and sister; my mother does not care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they joggle the mind.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
The days will have more hours while you are gone away.
This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me.
Dreams are the subtle dower that make us rich an hour. Then fling us poor out of the purple door. Into the precinct raw possessed before.
For love is immortality.
There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth, -- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity.
Tell the truth, but tell it slant.
To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.
That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
Tis almost consequence,
Is the eclat of death.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul -- and sings the tune without the words -- and never stops at all.
We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
The Soul should always stand ajar.
Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.
The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,
Or the most agonizing Spy
An Enemy -- could send.
When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee. When a Lover is an Owner Different is he.
I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut bur; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass, that the guest leaves.
We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.
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.
When the Best is gone -- I know that other things are not of consequence -- The Heart wants what it wants -- or else it does not care .
You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight -- though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.
The Heart is the Capital of the Mind-- The Mind is a single State-- The Heart and the Mind together make A single Continent-- One--is the Population-- Numerous enough-- This ecstatic Nation Seek--it is Yourself.
Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun -- if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.
There is no frigate like a book.
Banish Air from Air
Divide Light if you dare.
The past is not a package one can lay away.
When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.
My Life had stood -- a Loaded Gun -- In Corners -- till a Day The Owner passed -- identified -- And carried Me away .
Luck is not chance, it's toil; fortune's expensive smile is earned.
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -- I'm going, all along.
Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.
Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.
The brain is wider than the sky, For, put them side by side, The one the other will include With ease, and you beside.
Action is redemption.
No Life can pompless pass away -
The lowliest career
To the same Pageant wends its way
As that exalted here .
Sweet hour, blessed hour, to carry me to you, and to bring you back to me, long enough to snatch one kiss, and whisper goodbye again.
PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.
The past is such a curious creature,
To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Or a disgrace.
Unarmed if any meet her,
I charge them, fly !
Her rusty ammunition
Might yet reply !
There are depths in every Consciousness, from which we cannot rescue ourselves -- to which none can go with us.
Pardon my sanity in a world insane.
Such is the force of Happiness -- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.
To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
The brain is deeper than the sea.
A wounded dear leaps the highest.
I never had a mother. I suppose a mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
The sun just touched the morning; the morning, happy thing, supposed that he had come to dwell, and life would be all spring.
A sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb -- or Dome of Worm -- or Porch of Gnome -- or some Elf's Catacomb?
God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.
I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
I must go in, the fog is rising.
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
Truth is such a rare thing, it is delighted to tell it.
Find ecstasy in life; the more sense of living is joy enough.
Till I loved I never lived.
Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
Saying nothing... sometimes says the most.
Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them!
I tasted -- careless -- then -
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World -- Did you?
Oh, had you told me so -
This Thirst would blister -- easier -- now.
A charm invests a face
The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.
But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies,--
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies.
Experiment to me
Is every one I meet.
If it contain a kernel?
The figure of a nut
Presents upon a tree,
But meat within is requisite,
To squirrels and to me.
Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.
The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
There is always one thing to be grateful for -- that one is one's self and not somebody else.
I felt it shelter to speak to you.
Besides the autumn poets sing, a few prosaic days, a little this side of the snow, and that side of the haze.
I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep." I woke and chid my honest fingers,-- The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.
Each life converges to some centre expressed or still.
To hang our head ostensibly,
And subsequent to find
That such was not the posture
Of our immortal mind,
Affords the sly presumption
That, in so dense a fuzz,
You, too, take cobweb attitudes
Upon a plane of gauze!
When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
To possess is past the instant; we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
Heaven is so far of the mind that were the mind dissolved -- the site of it by architect could not again be proved.
I never saw a meme; I never saw the sea.
To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
Experiment has a stimulus which withers its fear.
This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me.
Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.
We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more.
The sweets of pillage can be known To no one but the thief, Compassion for integrity Is his divinest grief.
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading -- treading -- till it seemed That Sense was breaking through --.
If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me then. My barefoot rank is better.
Till the first friend dies, we think ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as unknown.
Forbidden fruit a flavor has
That lawful orchards mocks ;
How luscious lies the pea within
The pod that Duty locks !
Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude.
I cling to nowhere until I fall -- the crash of Nothing.
I know some lonely houses off the road
A robber'd like the look of, --
And windows hanging low.
The dandelion's pallid tube
Astonishes the grass,
And winter instantly becomes
An infinite alas.
Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth.
How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!
Surgeons must be very careful when they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions. Stirs the Culprit Life!
Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
We are the only poets," Emily told Susan, "and everyone else is prose.
Superiority to Fate Is difficult to gain 'Tis not conferred of Any But possible to earn.
Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.
My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word.
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.
The Pleading of the Summer -- That other Prank -- of Snow -- That Cushions Mystery with Tulle, For fear the Squirrels -- know.
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.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, .
A light exists in Spring
Not present in the year
at any other period
When March is scarcely here.
I stepped from plank to plank so slow and cautiously the stars about my head I felt, about my feet the sea. I knew not but the next would be my final inch -- this gave me that precarious gait some call experience.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I They may take the trifle Termed mortality!
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed.
The Past is such a curious Creature To look her in the Face A Transport may receipt us Or a Disgrace.
November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell.
Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane.
At least to pray is left -- is left Oh Jesus -- in the Air -- I know not which thy chamber is -- I'm knocking everywhere.
I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You'll know it by the rows of stars around it's forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; yet to my frugal eye of more esteem than ducats. Oh! Find it, sir, for me!
How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
Parting is all we know of Heaven, and all we need of Hell.
If your Nerve, deny you -- Go above your Nerve.
What Soft -- Cherubic Creatures --
These Gentlewomen are --
One would as soon assault a Plush --
Or violate a Star.
Portraits are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
I imagine therefore I belong and am free.
Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.
The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee, a clover, anytime, to him, is aristocracy.
The Babies we were are buried, and their shadows are plodding on.
His Labor is a Chant -- His Idleness -a Tune -- Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still... I can feel a sunshine stealing into my soul and making it all summer, and every thorn, a rose.
Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation.
But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.
Hunger is a way
Of standing outside windows
The entering takes away.
Love can do all but raise the Dead.
You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.
To be alive is power; existence in itself; without a further function; omnipotence.
If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.
The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
Expectation is contentment -- Gain satiety.
Dying is a wild night and a new road.
I ... am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn; Men eat of it and die.
Split the Lark--and you'll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.
Love is everything. And that's all we know about it.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.
I confess that I love him, I rejoice that I love him, I thank the maker of Heaven and Earth that gave him to me. The exultation floods me.
By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.
If I shouldn't be alive
When the Robins come,
Give the one in Red Cravat,
A Memorial crumb.
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? Not death. For who is he?
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise.
Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid -- as easy the secreting her behind the Eyes of God.
Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.
The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.
Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.
'Arcturus' is his other name- I'd rather call him 'Star.' It's very mean of Science To go and interfere!
There's nothing wicked in Shakespeare, and if there is I don't want to know it.
Fame is a bee.
It has a song -
It has a sting -
Ah, too, it has a wing.
The Heart wants what it wants -- or else it does not care.
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,-- This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.
We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.
That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still.
There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away.
Longing is like a seed that wrestles in the ground.
The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small-
Better an ignis fatuus
Than no illume at all.
Some keep the Sabbath going to church; I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.
Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me.
I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.
A Letter is a Joy of Earth -- It is denied the Gods.
A power of Butterfly must be -- The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky .
You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.
Fearless -- the cobweb swings from the ceiling --
Indolent Housewife -- in Daisies -- lain!
His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start he carries a circumference in which I have no part.
Bloom upon the Mountain--stated Blameless of a Name Efflorescence of a Sunset Reproduced--the same.
A Clock stopped --
Not the Mantel's --
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing --
That just now dangled still.
God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him! The charms of the heaven in the bush are superseded, I fear, by the heaven in the hand, occasionally.
That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love; It is enough, the freight should be proportioned to the groove.
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.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.
they discarded --
to endure --.
IMMORTAL is an ample word When what we need is by, But when it leaves us for a time, 'Tis a necessity.
Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.
The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee.
Unto a broken heart No other one may go Without the high prerogative Itself hath suffered too.
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
One step at a time is all it takes to get you there.
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.
They might not need me; but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight; a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul -- and sings the tunes without the words -- and never stops at all.
Fortune befriends the bold.
A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot.
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets, -- Prodigal of blue.
God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.
Bring me the sunset in a cup.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.
It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.
A color stands abroad on solitary hills that silence cannot overtake, but human nature feels.
My Life had stood -- a Loaded Gun.
Where thou art, that is home.
The older I grow the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you?
The Spider as an Artist Has never been employed- Though his surpassing Merit Is freely certified.
Who loves you most, and loves you best, and thinks of you when others rest? 'Tis Emilie.
If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.
I like a look of agony, because I know it's true.
I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.
Forever is composed of nows.
People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
Safe Despair it is that raves- Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.
Susie, what shall I do -- there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!
The sailor cannot see the north but knows the needle can.
How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie-- True Poems flee--.
Publication -- is the auction of the mind.
Your absence insanes me so -- I do not feel so peaceful, when you are gone from me.
That no Flake of snow fall on you or them -- is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes;
I wonder if It weighs like Mine,
Or has an Easier size.
He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
The Brain is just the weight of God --
For -- Heft them -- Pound for Pound --
And they will differ -- if they do --
As Syllable from Sound.
A Dominie in Gray --
Put gently up the evening Bars --
And led the flock away.
Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.
Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand When we with Daisies lie- That Commerce will continue- And Trades as briskly fly.
Let us go in; the fog is rising.
The truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.
AMPLE make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise' yellow noise Interrupt this ground.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!
We trust in plumed procession
For such the angels go
Rank after rank, with even feet And uniforms of snow.
I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.
There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed -- A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed.
Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.
Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day .
Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear- Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.
What fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot- The opening of a Door.
I tasted life.
Pain has an element of blank.
Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
Forever is composed of Nows
'Tis not a different time
Except for Infiniteness
And Latitude of Home.
Behold this little Bane- The Boon of all alive- As common as it is unknown The name of it is Love.
Open your life wide, and take me in forever. I will never be tired-I will never be noisy when you want to be still...nobody else will see me, but you-but that is enough-I shall not want any more.
Truth is so rare, it is delightful to tell it.
A Deed knocks first at Thought And then -- it knocks at Will -- That is the manufacturing spot.
I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.
Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.
An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear, We wish the ear had not a heart So dangerously near.
This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go.
MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I 'll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,-- Say, sea, Take me!
We turn not older with years, but newer every day.
A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.
Look back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
They say that "Time assuages" -- Time never did assuage -- An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age -- Time is a Test of Trouble -- But not a Remedy -- If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady.
My friends are my estate.
A door just opened on a street --
I, lost, was passing by --
An instant's width of warmth disclosed
And wealth, and company.
A light exists in Spring
Not present in the year
at any other period
When March is scarcely here.
What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,-- The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,-- Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.
He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant.
Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a "Diver" --
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest,
Her heart is fit for home-
I- a Sparrow- build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.
There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away.
I dwell in possibility.
Saying nothing sometimes says the most.
Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes.
A wounded deer leaps the highest.
Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies.
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.
Beauty is not caused. It is.
There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
Dogs are better than human beings because they know but do not tell.