And You Dropt, Lost, When Something Broke--

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

Dreams Are The Subtle Dower That Make Us Rich An Hour Then Fling Us Poor Out Of The Purple Door.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

That No Flake Of [snow] Fall On You Or Them - Is A Wish That Would Be A Prayer, Were Emily Not A Pagan.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.