Quotes :

Poem of the day – A BOOK – He ate and drank the precious words by Emily Dickinson He ate and drank the precious words,His spirit grew robust;He knew no more that he was poor,Nor that his frame was dust.He danced along the dingy days,And this bequest of wingsWas but a book. What libertyA loosened spirit brings! - A BOOK - He ate and drank the precious words by Emily Dickinson
Poem of the day – THE BOOK OF MARTYRS – Read, sweet, how others strove by Emily Dickinson Read, sweet, how others strove,Till we are stouter;What they renounced,Till we are less afraid;How many times they boreThe faithful witness,Till we are helped,As if a kingdom cared!Read then of faithThat shone above the fagot;Clear strains of hymnThe river could not drown;Brave names of menAnd celestial women,Passed out of recordInto renown! - THE BOOK OF MARTYRS - Read, sweet, how others ...
Poem of the day – TWO VOYAGERS – Two butterflies went out at noon by Emily Dickinson Two butterflies went out at noonAnd waltzed above a stream,Then stepped straight through the firmamentAnd rested on a beam;And then together bore awayUpon a shining sea, --Though never yet, in any port,Their coming mentioned be.If spoken by the distant bird,If met in ether seaBy frigate or by merchantman,Report was not to me. - TWO VOYAGERS - Two butterflies went out ...
Poem of the day – MEMORIALS by Emily Dickinson Death sets a thing significantThe eye had hurried by,Except a perished creatureEntreat us tenderlyTo ponder little workmanshipsIn crayon or in wool,With This was last her fingers did,Industrious untilThe thimble weighed too heavy,The stitches stopped themselves,And then 't was put among the dustUpon the closet shelves.A book I have, a friend gave,Whose pencil, here and there,Had notched the place that ...
Poem of the day – The soul unto itself by Emily Dickinson The soul unto itselfIs an imperial friend, --Or the most agonizing spyAn enemy could send.Secure against its own,No treason it can fear;Itself its sovereign, of itselfThe soul should stand in awe. - The soul unto itself by Emily Dickinson