Mine enemy is growing old,— I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge,— Let him be quick, the viand flits, It is a … - Emily Dickinson

Anger as soon as fed is dead-
'Tis starving makes it fat.

My Country is Truth.

The Daisy follows soft the Sun — And when his golden walk is done — Sits shyly at his feet — He — waking — finds the flower there — Wherefore — Marauder — art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!

We are the flower — Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline — We nearer steal to thee!
Enamored of the parting West — The peace — the flight — the Amethyst — Night's possibility!

Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority In this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain.