Emily Dickinson

I cannot live with You - It would be Life - And Life is over there - Behind the Shelf.

That it will never come again Is what makes life so sweet.

I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June - and in it are my friends - every one of them.

Who has not found the heaven below Will fail of it above. God's residence is next to mine- His furniture is love.

Where thou art, that is home.

The Pedigree of Honey Does not concern the Bee - A Clover, any time, to him, Is Aristocracy -

Hope it strange invention - A Patent of the Heart - In unremitting action Yet never wearing out.

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within.

How odd that girl's life looks Behind this soft eclipse! I think that earth seems so To those in heaven now. This being comfort, then That other kind was pain; But why compare? I'm wife! stop there!