His Labor is a Chant — his Idleness — a Tune — oh, for a Bees experience of Clovers, and of Noon! – Emily Dickinson
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. – Emily Dickinson
His Labor is a Chant — his Idleness — a Tune — oh, for a Bees experience of Clovers, and of Noon! – Emily Dickinson
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. – Emily Dickinson
His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start he carries a circumference in which I have no part. – Emily Dickinson