I dwell in possibility

Several of Nature's People I know and they know me I feel for them a transport Of Cordiality

I would have liked to wait, but "Sue" smuggled it under my Pillow, and to wake so near it overpowered me – I am glad "Immortality" pleased you.

If I can stop one Heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching, Or cool one Pain, Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again, I shall not live in vain.

Master – open your life wide, and take me in forever, I will never be tired – I will never be noisy when you want to be still. I will be your best little girl – nobody else will see me, but you – but that is enough – I shall not want any more –

Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found – The Hour, and the Zone, Each Circumstance unknown – What Constancy must be achieved Before it see the Sun!

A love so big it scares her, rushing among her small heart – pushing aside the blood and leaving her faint and white in the gust's arm –

I tell you, it is a Suffering, to have a sea – no care how Blue – between your Soul, and you.

Do I repine, is it all murmuring, or am I sad and lone, and cannot, cannot help it? Sometimes when I do feel so, I think it may be wrong, and that God will punish me by taking you away; for he is very kind to let me write to you, and to give me your sweet letters, but my heart wants more.

Love is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size.

Only Woman in the World, Accept a Julep Sent to Susan Gilbert, mid 1870s

Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away – Yesterday is Poetry – ’Tis Philosophy – Yesterday is mystery – Where it is Today While we shrewdly speculate Flutter both away

Do I repine, is it all murmuring, or am I sad and lone, and cannot, cannot help it? Sometimes when I do feel so, I think it may be wrong, and that God will punish me by taking you away; for he is very kind to let me write to you, and to give me your sweet letters, but my heart wants more.

But what can I do towards you? – dearer you cannot be, for I love you so already, that it almost breaks my heart – perhaps I can love you anew, every day of my life, every morning and evening – Oh if you will let me, how happy I shall be!

You asked how old I was? I made no verse - but one or two - until this winter - Sir - I had a terror since September - I could tell to none - and so I sing, as the boy does by the burying ground, because I am afraid - - Emily Dickinson, to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1862.

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Emily Dickinson’s herbarium; a thread.

Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity – Unable they that love – to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.

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Find me a house where no one can ever come.

But what can I do towards you? – dearer you cannot be, for I love you so already, that it almost breaks my heart – perhaps I can love you anew, every day of my life, every morning and evening – Oh if you will let me, how happy I shall be!

Oh Susie, I would nestle close to your warm heart, and never hear the wind blow, or the storm beat, again. Is there any room there for me, or shall I wander away all homeless and alone?

What a privilege it is to be so insignificant!

Dear Sue – With the Exception of Shakespeare, you have told me of more knowledge than any one living – To say that sincerely is strange praise