greykit.poetry — Emily Dickinson
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1896
[emily-dickinson]
I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
In the stillness before death, eyes dry, breaths gathering for the last onset — and then a fly interposes with blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz between the light and me, and the windows failed.
-
1891
[emily-dickinson]
Hope" is the thing with feathers—
Hope — the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, sings without words, and never stops — sweetest in the gale, asking never a crumb of me.
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1891
[emily-dickinson]
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
I'm nobody! Who are you? — if there's a pair of us, don't tell; how dreary to be somebody, how public like a frog to tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog.
-
1890
[emily-dickinson]
Because I could not stop for Death—
Death comes as a courteous gentleman who drives the poet past schoolchildren at play, gazing grain, and a house that seems a swelling of the ground, until centuries feel shorter than a single day.
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1878
[emily-dickinson]
Success is counted sweetest
Only those who never succeed can define success — not the purple host that took the flag, but the defeated dying man who hears the distant strains of triumph break agonized and clear.
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1866
[emily-dickinson]
A narrow fellow in the grass
A snake described entirely by how it moves and how it is missed — a whip lash unbraiding in the sun — and met, unlike Nature's other people, with tighter breathing and zero at the bone.