Emily Dickinson- Selected Poems (1)

“ Poetry torn up by the roots, with rain and dew and earth still clinging to them,
giving a freshness and a fragrance not otherwise conveyed.”
-Thomas Wentworth Higginson on her poetry.

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
* * * * * *
We outgrow love like other things
And put it in the drawer,
Till it an antique fashion shows
Like costumes grandsires wore.
– – – – – – – –
The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,—
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.
* * * * * *
Emily Dickinson