I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away —

THE MOON was but a chin of goldA night or two ago,And now she turns her perfect faceUpon the world below.Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her cheek like beryl stone;Her eye unto the summer...

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.

I had been hungry all the years-My noon had come, to dine-I, trembling, drew the table nearAnd touched the curious wine. ‘Twas this on tables I had seenWhen turning, hungry, lone,I looked in windows, for...

Heart, we will forget him!You and I, to-night!You may forget the warmth he gave,I will forget the light.When you have done, pray tell me,That I my thoughts may dim;Haste! lest while you’re lagging,I may remember...

Hunger is a wayOf standing outside windowsThe entering takes away.

Because I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste,And I had put awayMy labour, and my leisure too,For his civility.We passed...

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

I wonder if it hurts to live,And if they have to try,And whether, could they choose between,They would not rather die.

Art is a house that tries to be haunted.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

I only know that when you shall come back again, the Earth will seem more beautiful, and bigger than it does now, and the blue sky from the window will be all dotted with gold...

Il troppo mi urta – è così insolito.Mi sentivo a disagio, spaesata -come una bacca di fratta montanatrapiantata sulla strada.E non avevo fame. Allora capiiche la fame è un istinto di chi guarda le vetrine...

The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.

Love is like the wild rose-briar;Friendship like the holly-tree.The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,But which will bloom most constantly?The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,Its summer blossoms scent the air;Yet wait till winter...

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As Housewives do a Fly. If I could see you in a year, I’d wind...

We do not play on Graves—Because there isn’t Room—Besides—it isn’t even—it slantsAnd People come—And put a Flower on it—And hang their faces so—We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—And crush our pretty play—And so we...

Success is counted sweetest by those ne’er succeed.

The possible’s slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

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