Emily Dickinson

My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book.  What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.

Remorse is memory awake.

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

Each that we lose takes a part of us;
   A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
   Is summoned by the tides.

A Toad, can die of Light -
Death is the Common Right
Of Toads and Men -

The Possible's slow fuse is lit
By the Imagination.

I'm Nobody!  Who are you?
Are you - Nobody - Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise us - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!
How public - like a Frog -
To tell one's name - the livelong June -
To an admiring Bog!

If your Nerve, deny you -
Go above your Nerve -