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Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was 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 in reclusive isolation. 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 greet guests or, later in life, to even leave her bedroom. Dickinson never married, and most friendships between her and others depended entirely upon correspondence. Dickinson was a recluse for the later years of her life.

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Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun Or rather – He passed Us The Dews drew quivering and Chill For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground Since then 'tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

The Poets light but Lamps — Themselves — go out — The Wicks they stimulate If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns — Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference —

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit - Life!

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

You left me – Sire – two Legacies – A Legacy of Love A Heavenly Father would suffice Had He the offer of – You left me Boundaries of Pain – Capacious as the Sea – Between Eternity and Time – Your Consciousness – and me –

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

To fight aloud, is very brave - But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom The Calvary of Wo - Who win, and nations do not see - Who fall - and none observe - Whose dying eyes, no Country Regards with patriot love - We trust, in plumed procession For such, the Angels go - Rank after Rank, with even feet - And Uniforms of snow.

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah - the Sea! Might I but moor - tonight - In thee!

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

I counted till they danced so Their slippers leaped the town – And then I took a pencil To note the rebels down – And then they grew so jolly I did resign the prig – And ten of my once stately toes Are marshalled for a jig!

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip, Nor beg, with domains in my pocket—

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Now I knew I lost her — Not that she was gone — But Remoteness travelled On her Face and Tongue. Alien, though adjoining As a Foreign Race — Traversed she though pausing Latitudeless Place. Elements Unaltered — Universe the same But Love's transmigration — Somehow this had come — Henceforth to remember Nature took the Day I had paid so much for — His is Penury Not who toils for Freedom Or for Family But the Restitution Of Idolatry.

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

It sifts from Leaden Sieves - It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road - It makes an even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain - Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again - It reaches to the Fence - It wraps it Rail by Rail Till it is lost in Fleeces - It deals Celestial Vail To Stump, and Stack - and Stem - A Summer’s empty Room - Acres of Joints, where Harvests were, Recordless, but for them - It Ruffles Wrists of Posts As Ankles of a Queen - Then stills it’s Artisans - like Ghosts - Denying they have been -

Contributed by Alicia Kimberly Hauskins

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