Emily Dickinson

I confess that I love him, I rejoice that I love him, I thank the maker of Heaven and Earth read more

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.

Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away

Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
read more

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops read more

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a read more

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing.