Those fair — fictitious People (Emily Dickinson Poem)
Those fair -- fictitious People -- The Women -- plucked away From our familiar Lifetime -- The Men of Ivory ...
Those fair -- fictitious People -- The Women -- plucked away From our familiar Lifetime -- The Men of Ivory ...
The Robin's my Criterion for Tune -- Because I grow -- where Robins do -- But, were I Cuckoo born ...
Power is a familiar growth -- Not foreign -- not to be -- Beside us like a bland Abyss In ...
Of nearness to her sundered Things The Soul has special times -- When Dimness -- looks the Oddity -- Distinctness ...
I've nothing else -- to bring, You know -- So I keep bringing These -- Just as the Night keeps ...
I read my sentence -- steadily -- Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In ...
A precious -- mouldering pleasure -- 'tis -- To meet an Antique Book -- In just the Dress his Century ...
No matter -- now -- Sweet -- But when I'm Earl -- Won't you wish you'd spoken To that dull ...
This was a Poet -- It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings -- And Attar so immense From ...
Could live -- did live -- Could die -- did die -- Could smile upon the whole Through faith in ...
But I am not yet dead and yet I rest my head sweetly on the bare gravestones of great poets, ...
I was schooled well before he died, able at least to feel what others felt when their fathers were deceased. ...
Even from afar came shouts of recognition joyful voices rang across the years disdained and faces of our childhood unforgot ...
Absorbed in familiar rhythms, carillon of senses steeped in good vibrations, surrounded by musical beat pulsing potently in avidly articulated ...
I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall ...
In Memory of John Keats By the Aurelian Wall, Where the long shadows of the centuries fall From Caius Cestius' ...
PART I On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall, And roofless homes, a sad remembrance ...
Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. So God has ...
WHEN that Aprilis, with his showers swoot*, *sweet The drought of March hath pierced to the root, And bathed every ...
1) Sleeping birds, lead me, soft birds, be me inside this black room, back of the white moon. In the ...
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip Of sullen light, no obscure ...
A little ink more or less! I surely can't matter? Even the sky and the opulent sea, The plains and ...
"AND did you really walk," said I, "On such a wretched night? I always fancied Ghosts could fly - If ...
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer, wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns. How ...
Serene, almost angelic, the lights of the city attend upon lumbering behemoths shrilly screeching displeasure; they say that nothing is ...
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh ...
Ellen, you were thoughtless once Of beauty or of grace, Simple and homely in attire, Careless of form and face; ...
Methinks in Him there dwells alway A sea of laughter very deep, Where the leviathans leap, And little children play, ...
ARRANGING long-locked drawers and shelves Of cabinets, shut up for years, What a strange task we've set ourselves ! How ...
Young Mary, loitering once her garden way, Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day, As wine that blushes ...
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