Emily Dickinson

The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
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The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
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The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a read more

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing.

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.

Forever is composed of nows.

Forever is composed of nows.