<b>A Word is Dead</b> A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day. - Emily Dickinson

Unto my Books-so good to turn-
Far ends of tired Days-
It half endears the Abstinence-
And Pain-is missed-in Praise-

As Flavors-cheer Retarded Guests
With Banquettings to be-
So Spices-stimulate the time
Till my small Library-

It may be Wilderness-without-
Far feet of failing Men-
But Holiday-excludes the night-
And it is Bells-within-

I thank these Kinsmen of the Shelf-
Their Countenances Kid
Enamor-in Prospective-
And satisfy-obtained-

Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

If you were here, and Oh that you were, my Susie, we need not talk at all, our eyes would whisper for us...