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If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
For love is immortality.
Find ecstasy in life the mere sense of living is joy enough.
I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
Where thou art, that is home.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.