That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.
Emily DickinsonHere is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum; Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
Emily DickinsonThe soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
Emily Dickinson