Emily Dickinson

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'Tis but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake read more

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'Tis but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.
The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs,,
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings
Mirth is mail of anguish,
In which its cautious arm
Lest anybody spy the blood
And, you're hurt exclaim.

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.

Anger as soon as fed is dead — 'Tis starving makes it fat.

Anger as soon as fed is dead — 'Tis starving makes it fat.

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.