There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
Emily DickinsonOpinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
Emily DickinsonWe do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—
Emily Dickinson