Exhilaration — is within —
There can no Outer Wine
So royally intoxicate
As that diviner Brand

The Soul achieves — Herself —
To drink — or set away
For Visitor — Or Sacrament —
‘Tis not of Holiday

To stimulate a Man
Who hath the Ample Rhine
Within his Closet — Best you can
Exhale in offering.


~Emily Dickinson, #383 (1862)
Too happy Time dissolves itself
And leaves no remnant by —
‘Tis Anguish not a Feather hath
Or too much weight to fly —

~Emily Dickinson, #1774 (1870)
Spring is a happiness so beautiful, so unique, so unexpected, that I don’t know what to do with my heart. I dare not take it, I dare not leave it – what do you advise?

~Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Louise and Frances Norcross, late April 1873 (via litverve)
All the letters I can write
Are not fair as this —
Syllables of Velvet —
Sentences of Plush,
Depths of Ruby, undrained,
Hid, Lip, for Thee —
Play it were a Humming Bird —
And just sipped — me —

~Emily Dickinson, #334 (1862)
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 —

~Emily Dickinson, #764 (1863)
I scarcely know where to begin, but love is always a safe place.

~Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Louise and Frances Norcross, March 1886
All men say “What” to me, but I thought it a fashion —

~Emily Dickinson, letter #271 to T. W. Higginson
Her Grace is all she has—
And that, so least displays —
One Art to recognize, must be,
Another Art, to praise.

~Emily Dickinson, #810 (1864)
Mr. Lord is very sick." I grasped at a passing Chair. My sight slipped and I thought I was freezing. While my last smile was ending, I heard the Doorbell ring and a strange voice said "I thought first of you.

~Emily Dickinson, letter #752 to Otis P. Lord

We grow accustomed to the Dark —
When Light is put away —
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye —

A Moment — We uncertain step
For newness of the night —
Then — fit our Vision to the Dark —
And meet the Road — erect —

And so of larger — Darkness —
Those Evenings of the Brain —
When not a Moon disclose a sign —
Or Star — comes out — within —

The Bravest — grope a little —
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead —
But as they learn to see —

Either the Darkness alters —
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight —
And Life steps almost straight.


~Emily Dickinson, #419 (1862)
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