And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, eyes __ wonder if It weighs like Mine __r has an Easier size.I wonder if They bore it long __r did it just begin __ could not tell the Date of Mine __t feels so old a pain __ wonder if it hurts to live __nd if They have to try __nd whether _ could They choose between __t would not be _ to die __ note that Some _ gone patient long __t length, renew their smile __n imitation of a LightThat has so little Oil __ wonder if when Years have piled __ome Thousands _ on the Harm __hat hurt them early _ such a lapseCould give them any Balm.
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Quote Detail
I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, eyes __ wonder if It weighs like Mine __r has an Easier size.I wonder if They bore it long __r did it just begin __ could not tell the Date of Mine __t feels so old a pain __ wonder if it hurts to live __nd if They have to try __nd whether _ could They choose between __t would not be _ to die __ note that Some _ gone patient long __t length, renew their smile __n imitation of a LightThat has so little Oil __ wonder if when Years have piled __ome Thousands _ on the Harm __hat hurt them early _ such a lapseCould give them any Balm.
Quick Answer
What this quote page tells you
This canonical quote page keeps the full saying, the attributed author, any linked work, and the topic tags together so the quote can be cited from one stable URL.
Related Quotes
More quote cards from the same area
Love is an exorcism of angels.
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.
THE CONSCIOUS HUMANYou are not just white,but a rainbow of colors.You are not just black,but golden.You are not just a nationality,but a citizen of the world.You are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.Suzy Kassem__he Conscious Human_ Poetry by Suzy Kassem
Share your dreams and they will be inspired. Plant seeds of knowledge and they will grow and reproduce beyond measure.
You know what I love? The spaces between I love you. The tap of your fork against the plate and how my cup of wine clicks against our table. The scratchy voice coming from the radio in the other room. The quiet sound of your hand reaching across the table and whispering over mine. How your voice sounds like your mouth on the back of my neck. The soft murmur of our easy conversation.Between these quiet Tuesday night routines, following every comma and right after every pause for breath, is I, love, and you. In the middle of every I love you is a sink full of dishes, whisper of socked feet tangled in white sheets, and gentle kisses against curved cheeks. We lyric ourselves into the laundry that needs to be finished, into the ends of every smile that follows me repeating your name. We write ourselves into the grocery bags we need to carry, the cracks running up our rented walls, the sides of the bed we choose to drag up the sails of heavy eyed dreams.Like the spaces between our fingers, in the spaces between I, love, and you, we wait.The in-betweens have always been my favorite.