I wish I could remember the first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me; If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or winter for aught I can say. So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dullRead More →
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann’d:Read More →
Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream; Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years. O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitterRead More →
If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I’d wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls.Read More →
Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day. Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times, A messenger from radiant climes, And smile on thy new world, and be AsRead More →
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow’s soarRead More →
Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me, Then I, my thoughts, will dim. Haste! lest while you’re lagging I may remember him! ~ Emily DickinsonRead More →
I’ve got an arrow here; Loving the hand that sent it, I the dart revere. Fell, they will say, in “skirmish”! Vanquished, my soul will know, By but a simple arrow Sped by an archer’s bow. !~ Emily DickinsonRead More →
Lying asleep between the strokes of night I saw my love lean over my sad bed, Pale as the duskiest lilly’s leaf or head, Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite, Too wan for blushing and too warm for white, But perfect-coloured without white or red. And herRead More →
I did not choose thee, dearest. It was Love That made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blind As a rude shepherd’s who to some lone grove His offering brings and cares not at what shrine He bends his knee. The gifts alone were mine; The rest was Love’s.Read More →
