Fame is a bee It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.
Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
Source: Poem no. 1763.
Contributed by: Zaady
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate.
Source: c. 1864; The Single Hound, 1914.
Till the first friend dies, we think our ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as yet unknown.
Our little kinsmen after rain In plenty may be seen, A pink and pulpy multitude The tepid ground upon; A needless life it seemed to me Until a little bird As to a hospitality Advanced and breakfasted.
Source: Our Little Kinsman
Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid - As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
Source: The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, no. 894, ed. Thomas H. Johnson, 1955.
The dandelion's pallid tube Astonishes the grass, And winter instantly becomes An infinite alas.
Source: poem no. 1519.
The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear - Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.
Source: The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, no. 1742, ed. Thomas H. Johnson, 1955.
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.
Source: "The Chariot", poem no. 712.
A Deed knocks first at Thought And then - it knocks at Will - That is the manufacturing spot.
Source: c. 1872, poem no. 1212, in toto.
I took one Draught of Life - I'll tell you what I paid - Precisely an existence - The market price, they said.
Source: c. 1864; Further Poems of Emily Dickinson, 1929.
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