Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance
What if i say i shall not wait!
ANyway
I’m in this odd but fun Emily Dickinson mood.
It's like taking over my ability to function
sad but true
*Note to ppl who know me, i sprained my neck again, sigh*
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The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying-this to Us
Made Nature different
We noticed smallest things-
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized-as 'twere.
As we went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame
That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite-
We waited while She passed-
It was a narrow time-
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.
She mentioned, and forgot-
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce-
Consented, and was dead-
~Emily Dickinson
(there is another verse to that poem but i
always liked it to end there, cheeky of me
really.)
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The mob within the heart
Police cannot suppress
The riot given at the first
Is authorized as peace
Uncertified of scene
Or signified of sound
But growing like a hurricane
In a congenial ground.
~Emily Dickinson
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A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances-
First time together thrown.
~Emily Dickinson
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The gleam of an heroic Act
Such strange illumination
The Possible's slow fuse is lit
By the Imagination.
~Emily Dickinson
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That she forgot me was the least
I felt it second pain
That i was worthy to forget
Was most i thought upon.
Faithful all that I could boast
But Constancy became
To her, by her innominate,
A something like a shame.
~Emily Dickinson
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Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few-love at all.
~Emily Dickinson
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I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes-
I wonder if It weighs like Mine-
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long-
Or did it just begin-
I could not tell the Date of Mine-
It feels so old a pain-
I wonder if it hurts to live-
And if They have to try-
And whether-could They choose between-
It would not be-to die-
I note that Some-gone patient long-
At length, renew their smile-
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil-
I wonder if when Years have piled-
Some Thousands-on the Harm-
That hurt them early-such a lapse
Could give them any Balm-
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve-
Enlightened to a larger Pain-
In Contrast with the Love-
The Grieved-are many-I am told-
There is the various Cause-
Death-is but one-and comes but once-
And only nails the eyes-
There's Grief of Want-and grief of Cold-
A sort they call "Despair"-
There's Banishment from native Eyes-
In Sight of Native Air-
And though I may not guess the kind-
Correctly-yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary-
To note the fashions-of the Cross-
And how they're mostly worn-
Still fascinated to presume
That Some-are like My Own-
~Emily Dickinson
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Hope is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all-
~Emily Dickinson
(again this has two other verses that are
really nice but i also really like the
first verse on it's own)
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Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon and then the sun;
~Emily Dickinson
(Now i love the rest of this poem but i am soooo sleepy
i'm starting to make mistakes..so i will finish it
later...but i will finish it b/c that little slice
does it no justice.)
Current Mood:
touchedCurrent Music: What ever happened? ~the strokes