Death Sets A Thing
Emily Dickinson
Because I Could Not Stop for Death
A Book
The Bustle in a House
Come Slowly, Eden!
Death Sets a Thing
Heart, We Will Forget Him!
Hope is the Thing with Feathers
I Felt a Funeral in My Brain
I Went To Heaven
My Life Closed Twice Before it Closed
The Mystery of Pain
A Narrow Fellow in the Grass
The Only News I Know
Success is Counted Sweetest
Summer Shower
There Is A Word
This Is My Letter To The World
A Thunderstorm
We Like March
When Roses Cease To Bloom, Dear
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships In crayon or in wool, With "This was last her fingers did," Industrious until The thimble weighed too heavy, The stitches stopped themselves, And then 't was put among the dust Upon the closet shelves. A book I have, a friend gave, Whose pencil, here and there, Had notched the place that pleased him,-- At rest his fingers are. Now, when I read, I read not, For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs.