They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
"The Soul selects her own Society" The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more —
By abdul4 years ago in Poets
How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! These lines are also from a poem by Emily Dickinson, titled "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" In the following lines of the poem, the speaker contrasts the freedom of being a nobody with the burdens of being a somebody.
"I'm Nobody! Who are you?" I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us — don't tell! They'd banish us, you know.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each It Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads We were toward eternity.
We paused before a house that seemed Swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound These lines are from the poem "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" by Emily Dickinson. In this stanza, the speaker and Death have stopped in front of a house that appears to be swelling off the ground.
Or rather, he passed us; The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown, My tippet only tulle. These lines are also from the same poem, "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" by Emily Dickinson. Here, the speaker continues to describe her carriage ride with Death, but the perspective shifts to the experience of the speaker as they pass through a field.
We passed the school, where children strove At recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun.
I climbed the tallest mountain And no one held my hand Then I pitched my tent on the stars. I constructed the highest castle
By Sara 4 years ago in Poets
Gentle cloth, in muted hue, Men's underwear, so private and true, A comfort to wear, a shield to protect, A second skin, so snug and correct.
By new king4 years ago in Poets
A simple vessel, clear and bright, A water bottle, a helpful sight, In hand it sits, a trusty friend, A drink of water, it can extend.
Beyond this life, what lies in wait? Do we ascend to pearly gates? Or sink below to fiery fate? What happens when we meet our date?
By Quincy.V4 years ago in Poets
A broken mirror, shattered and cracked, Reflecting images distorted and abstract, Once a symbol of beauty and grace, Now a ruin, a mere disgrace.
