Editors

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,Not to partake thy passion, my humility. … [Read more...] about Consecration., By: Emily Dickinson

For each ecstatic instantWe must an anguish payIn keen and quivering ratioTo the ecstasy. For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears. … [Read more...] about Compensation., By: Emily Dickinson

Drab habitation of whom?Tabernacle or tomb,Or dome of worm,Or porch of gnome,Or some elf's catacomb? … [Read more...] about Cocoon., By: Emily Dickinson

The spider as an artistHas never been employedThough his surpassing meritIs freely certified By every broom and BridgetThroughout a Christian land.Neglected son of genius,I take thee by the hand. … [Read more...] about Cobwebs., By: Emily Dickinson

Of all the souls that stand createI have elected one.When sense from spirit files away,And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which wasApart, intrinsic, stand,And this brief tragedy of fleshIs shifted like a sand; When figures show their royal frontAnd mists are carved away, --Behold the atom I preferredTo all the lists of clay! … [Read more...] about Choice., By: Emily Dickinson