I felt a Cleaving in my Mind — As if my Brain had split — I tried to match it — Seam by Seam — But could not make it fit. The thought behind, I stro… - Emily Dickinson

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind — As if my Brain had split — I tried to match it — Seam by Seam — But could not make it fit.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn; Men eat of it and die.

If your Nerve, deny you — Go above your Nerve — He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve — That's a steady posture — Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms — Best Giant made — If your Soul seesaw — Lift the Flesh door — The Poltroon wants Oxygen — Nothing more —

I started early, took my dog,
And visited the sea;
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me