To be alive—is Power—
Existence—in itself—
Without a further function—
Omnipotence—Enough—

To be alive—and Will!
'Tis able as a God—
The Maker—of Ourselves—be what—
Such being Finitude!

-Emily Dickinson

A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White.

Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.

-Emily Dickinson

Eden is that old-fashioned House
We dwell in every day
Without suspecting our abode
Until we drive away.
-Emily Dickinson

We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies.
-Emily Dickinson

I stepped from plank to plank
So slow and cautiously;
the stars about my head I felt,
And my feet the sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch -
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience.

-Emily Dickinson

Faith - is the Pierless Bridge
Supporting what We see
Unto the Scene that We do not -
Too slender for the eye

It bears the soul as bold
As if it were rocked in Steel
With Arms of Steel at either side -
It joins - behind the Veil

To what, could We presume
The bridge would cease to be
To Our far, vacillating Feet
A first Necessity.

-Emily Dickinson

There is a solitude of space

A solitude of sea

A solitude of death, but these

Society shall be

Compared with that profounder site

That polar privacy

A soul admitted to itself—

Finite infinity.

-Emily Dickinson