Fame is a bee. It has a song – It has a sting – Ah, too, it has a wing.
Even the Possible has it’s insoluble particle.
Dying is a wild Night and a new Road.
Dogs. They are better than beings because they know, but do not tell.
Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest Of the thefts of Time – There Marauds a sorer Robber, Silence – is his name – No Assault, nor any Menace Doth betoken him. But from Life’s consummate Cluster – He supplants the Balm.
Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust.
Bring me the sunset in a cup.
Best Grief is Tongueless – before He’ll tell – Burn Him in the Public Square –
Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.
Beauty – be not caused – It Is –
Anger as soon as fed is dead – ‘Tis starving makes it fat –
After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
