Emily Dickinson

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
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There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.

Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition
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Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break agonized and clear.

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