Emily Dickinson (10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)
The Months have ends—the Years—a knot
The Months have ends—the Years—a knot—
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery—
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers—
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose—
The manner of the Children—
Who weary of the Day—
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away—
Poet Other Poems
- "Arcturus" is his other name
- "Faith" is a fine invention
- "Heaven" has different Signs—to me
- "Heaven"—is what I cannot reach!
- "Hope" is the thing with feathers
- "Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me
- "I want"—it pleaded—All its ...
- "Morning"—means "Milking"—to...
- "Nature" is what we see
- "Unto Me?" I do not know you
- "Why do I love" You, Sir?
- A Bird Came Down
- A Book
- A Burdock—clawed my Gown
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