Opinion is a flitting thing, but the truth outlasts the sun. - Emily Dickinson

Eternity, Presumption
The instant I perceive
That you who were Existence
Yourself forgot to live

"Hope" is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul — And sings the tune without the words — And never stops — at all — And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard — And sore must be the storm — That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

Death is like the insect
Menacing the tree,
Competent to kill it,
But decoyed may be.

Bait it with the balsam,
Seek it with the knife,
Baffle, if it cost you
Everything in life.

Then, if it have burrowed
Out of reach of skill,
Ring the tree and leave it, — ’Tis the vermin’s will.