Emily Dickinson

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.

Beauty is not caused. It is.

Beauty is not caused. It is.

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
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Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
'Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,--you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
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The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.