Life—is what we make of it—, por Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Life—is what we make of it—

698

Life—is what we make of it—

Death—we do not know—

Christ’s acquaintance with Him

Justify Him—though—

He—would trust no stranger—

Other—could betray—

Just His own endorsement—

That—sufficeth Me—

All the other Distance

He hath traversed first—

No New Mile remaineth—

Far as Paradise—

His sure foot preceding—

Tender Pioneer—

Base must be the Coward

Dare not venture—now—

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754 my Life had stood—a Loaded Gun

My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…

I Dwell in Possibility

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

So Set Its Sun in Thee

808 So set its Sun in Thee What Day be dark to me— What Distance—far— So I the Ships may see

I Like a Look of Agony

241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—

She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades

479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—

The Missing All’—prevented Me

985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—

In Rags Mysterious as These

117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.

I Sometimes Drop It, for a Quick

708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—

Bloom Upon the Mountain’stated

667 Bloom upon the Mountain’—stated’— Blameless of a Name’— Efflorescence of a Sunset’— Reproduced’—the same’—

Empty my Heart, of Thee

587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—

Pain

Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—

The Blue Jay

No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us

Of Bronze — and Blaze —

319 Of Bronze — and Blaze — The North — tonight — So adequate — it forms — So preconcerted with itself —

Her Sweet Turn to Leave the Homestead

649 Her Sweet turn to leave the Homes… Came the Darker Way— Carriages—Be Sure—and Guests—too… But for Holiday

I Died for Beauty

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Emily Dickinson

Life—is what we make of it—

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