"I died for Beauty – but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb, When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room – He questioned softly "Why I failed"? "For Beauty," I replied. "And I – for Truth, – Themself are One – We Brethren, are", He said –"

"How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity."

""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 – I've heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me."

"Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him!"

"Glee! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand.Ring, for the scant salvation! Toll, for the bonnie souls,— Neighbor and friend and bridegroom, Spinning upon the shoals!How they will tell the shipwreck When winter shakes the door, Till the children ask, "But the forty? Did they come back no more?"Then a silence suffuses the story, And a softness the teller's eye; And the children no further question, And only the waves reply."

"Fate slew him, but he did not drop; She felled—he did not fall— Impaled him on her fiercest stakes— He neutralized them all.She stung him, sapped his firm advance, But, when her worst was done, And he, unmoved, regarded her, Acknowledged him a man."

"Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn; Men eat of it and die."

""Faith" is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see – But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency."

"What fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot - The opening of a Door -"

"Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, 'tis said, a sinking man Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever To that abhorred abodeWhere hope and he part company,— For he is grasped of God. The Maker’s cordial visage, However good to see, Is shunned, we must admit it, Like an adversity."

"Dreams – are well – but Waking's better, If One wake at Morn – If One wake at Midnight – better – Dreaming – of the Dawn –"

"Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done – Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none –Balked in the vastest instance But to renew – Felled but by one assassin – Prosperity –"

"Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast; Grant, God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest.Please God, might I behold him In epauletted white, I should not fear the foe then, I should not fear the fight."

"Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity –"

"We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring –"

"I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur — and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the Guest leaves — Would this do just as well?"

"My friends are my "estate." Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them."

"Friday I tasted life. It was a vast morsel. A circus passed the house — still I feel the red in my mind though the drums are out. [...] The lawn is full of south and the odors tangle, and I hear to-day for the first the river in the tree."

"Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility –"

"This is the Hour of Lead - Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow - First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go -"

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes - The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs - The stiff Heart questions 'was it He, that bore,' And 'Yesterday, or Centuries before'?"

"A solemn thing - it was - I said - A Woman - white - to be - And wear - if God should count me fit - Her blameless mystery -"

"A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King."

"A death-blow is a life-blow to some Who, till they died, did not alive become; Who, had they lived, had died, but when They died, vitality begun."

"A Grave – is a restricted Breadth – Yet ampler than the Sun – And all the Seas He populates And lands he looks uponTo Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend – Circumference without Relief – Or Estimate – or End –"

"No approximate words in a poem."

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day."

"To live is so startling, it leaves but little room for other occupations."

"If I read a book [and] it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"

"Every person is responsible for only the good within his abilities, and for no more, and no one can tell whose sphere is the largest."

"The total depravity of inanimate things."

"Whatever an author puts between the two covers of his book is public property; whatever of himself he does not put there is his private property, as much as if he had never written a word."