American poet (1830-1886)
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Virtually unknown in her lifetime, Dickinson has come to be regarded as one of the greatest American poets of the 19th century. Although she wrote (at latest count) 1789 poems, only a few of them were published in her lifetime, all anonymously, and some perhaps without her knowledge.
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Birth Name:
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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Oh Susie, I often think that I will try to tell you how very dear you are, and how I'm watching for you, but the words won't come, though the tears will, and I sit down disappointed. Yet, darling, you know it all — then why do I seek to tell you? I do not know. In thinking of those I love, my reason is all gone from me, and I do fear sometimes that I must make a hospital for the hopelessly insane, and chain myself up there so I won't injure you.
If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
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,
For fear the numbers fuse — If only Centuries, delayed,
I'd count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee,
That will not state — its sting.