Hope is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soul,And sings the tune without the words,And never stops at all,And sweetest in the gale is heard;And sore must be the stormThat could abash the little...

Tell the truth, but tell it slant.

Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Nature’s West –

The career of flowers differs from ours only in inaudibleness. I feel more reverence as I grow for these mute creatures whose suspense or transport may surpass my own.

The Heart wants what it wants – or else it does not care

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.

Nature is a haunted house–but Art–is a house that tries to be haunted.

I sing to use the waiting, My bonnet but to tie, And shut the door unto my house; No more to do have I, Till, his best step approaching, We journey to the day, And...

A charm invests a faceImperfectly beheld,—The lady dare not lift her veilFor fear it be dispelled.But peers beyond her mesh,And wishes, and denies,—Lest interview annul a wantThat image satisfies.

Mine Enemy is growing old –I have at last Revenge –The Palate of the Hate departs –If any would avenge Let him be quick — the Viand flits –It is a faded Meat –Anger as...

A word is dead when it’s been said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.

I HIDE myself within my flowerThat wearing on your breast,You, unsuspecting, wear me too—And angels know the rest.I hide myself within my flower,That, fading from your vase,You, unsuspecting, feel for meAlmost a loneliness…

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were...

Faith is a fine inventionWhen gentlemen can see,But microscopes are prudentIn an emergency.

To shut your eyes is to travel.

That I shall love always, I argue theethat love is life,and life hath immortality

Inebriate of Air — am I —And Debauchee of Dew —Reeling — thro endless summer days —From Inns of Molten Blue —

Let me not mar that perfect dreamBy an auroral stain,But so adjust my daily nightThat it will come again.

Todo lo que sabemos del amor es que el amor es todo lo que hay.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,One clover, and a bee,And revery.The revery alone will do,If bees are few.

This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.

Sarei forse più solasenza la mia solitudine.Sono abituata al mio destino.

I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell...

Kein Schiff trägt uns besser in ferne Länder, als ein Buch.

The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

Heart, we will forget him,You and I, tonight!You must forget the warmth he gave,I will forget the light.

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!Were I with theeWild Nights should beOur luxury!Futile – the winds –To a heart in port –Done with the compass –Done with the chart!Rowing in Eden –Ah, the sea!Might I moor...

A precious, mouldering pleasure ‘t isTo meet an antique bookIn just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And warming in our own,A passage back, or two, to makeTo times when...

I did not reach thee,But my feet slip nearer every day;Three Rivers and a Hill to cross,One Desert and a Sea—I shall not count the journey one When I am telling thee.Two deserts—but the year...

I died for beauty but was scarceAdjusted in the tomb,When one who died for truth was lainIn an adjoining room.He questioned softly why I failed?”For beauty,” I replied.”And I for truth, the two are one;We...

I held a jewel in my fingersAnd went to sleep.The day was warm, and winds were prosy;I said: “‘T will keep.”I woke and chid my honest fingers,—The gem was gone;And now an amethyst remembranceIs all...

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawnIndicative that suns go down;The notice to the startled grassThat darkness is about to pass.

Come le donne le foglie si scambianoconfidenze acute.A volte sono cenni, a volteillazioni portentose.

How happy is the little stoneThat rambles in the road alone,And doesn’t care about careers,And exigencies never fears;Whose coat of elemental brownA passing universe put on;And independent as the sun,Associates or glows alone,Fulfilling absolute decreeIn...

Beauty is not caused. It is.

I never spoke — unless addressed —And then, ’twas brief and low —I could not bear to live — aloud —The Racket shamed me so —And if it had not been so far —And any...

We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.

One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing Material Place —

There is another sky,Ever serene and fair,And there is another sunshine,Though it be darkness there;Never mind faded forests, Austin,Never mind silent fields -Here is a little forest,Whose leaf is ever green;Here is a brighter garden,Where...

Dich hab ich nicht erreicht-Doch nähert Tag für TagSich dir mein FußDrei Flüsse noch und ein BergIch überqueren muss.Noch Eine Wüste, noch ein Meer,Die Reise aber zähl ich nicht,Wenn ich dann vor Dir steh.Wir schreiten...

She died–this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun.Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the...

To see the Summer SkyIs Poetry, though never in a Book it lie—True Poems flee—

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

Non parlavo mai – se non sollecitata. In quei casi – brevemente – a voce bassa.Non mi riusciva di vivere nella confusione. Mi vergognavo del chiasso.

There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands awayNor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of Toll – How frugal is the...

This is my letter to the worldThat never wrote to me

Anger as soon as fed is dead- ‘Tis starving makes it fat.

That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

It was not death, for I stood up,And all the dead lie down;It was not night, for all the bellsPut out their tongues, for noon.It was not frost, for on my fleshI felt siroccos crawl,Nor...