Emily Dickinson

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.

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
read more

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.

Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held but just ourselves
And immortaility.

Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held but just ourselves
And immortaility.

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.