Works of Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility.
We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of grazing grain, We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.
Since then 't is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hope is the Thing With Feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers That 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 storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nature the Gentlest Mother is
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild
In forest and the hill By traveller be heard, Restraining rampant squirrel Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation A summer afternoon, Her household her assembly; And when the sun go down,
Her voice among the aisles Incite the timid prayer Of the minutest cricket, The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep, She turns as long away As will suffice tolight her lamps, Then bending from the sky
With infinite affection An infiniter care, Her golden finger on her lip, Wills silence everywhere.
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