This is my letter to the world,
          That never wrote to me,
          The simple news that Nature told,
          With tender majesty.
          Her message is committed,
          To hands I cannot see;
          For love of her, sweet
          countrymen,
          Judge tenderly of me. 

       We meet no Stranger, but
          Ourself 

          The soul should always stand ajar. Ready to welcome the
          ecstatic experience. 

       To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else. 

          I believe the love of God may be taught not to seem like bears. 

       Some keep the Sabbath going
          to Church The Soul Selects her own Society 

         I'm nobody, Who are you?
          Are you — Nobody, — too? 

       How dreary 
— to be 
— Somebody!
       How public 
— like a Frog 
— To tell one's name 
— the livelong June
— To an admiring Bog! 

          We never know how high we are 
Till we are called to rise;
          And then, if we are true to plan,
          Our statures touch the skies. 

       There is no frigate like a book
          to take us lands away
          Nor any courses like a page of
          prancing poetry
          This traverse may the poorest
          take without oppress of toil
          How frugal is the chariot that
          bears the human soul! 

          SUCCESS is counted sweetest
          By those who ne'er succeed.
          To comprehend a nectar
          Requires sorest need.

       Not one of all the purple host
          Who took the flag to-day
          Can tell the definition,
          So clear, of victory,

          As he, defeated, dying,
          On whose forbidden ear
          The distant strains of triumph
          Break, agonized and clear.

       The Brain — is wider than the
          Sky —
          For — put them side by side —
          The one the other will contain
          With ease — and You — beside.

          Faith: Two variants 

          Faith is a fine invention
          When gentlemen can see,
          But microscopes are prudent
          In an emergency.

          Faith is a fine invention
          For gentlemen who see;
          But microscopes are prudent
          In an emergency.

          Hope is a thing with feathers
          That perches in the soul,
          And sings the tune without
          words
          And never stops at all. 

          Of 'shunning Men and Women'
          — they talk of Hallowed things,
          aloud — and embarrass my
          Dog — He and I dont object to
          them, if they'll exist their side.
          I think Carlo would please you
          — He is dumb, and brave — I
          think you would like the
          Chestnut Tree, I met in my
          walk. It hit my notice suddenly
          — and I thought the Skies were
          in Blossom — 

          For my companions — the Hills
          — Sir — and the Sundown —
          and a Dog — large as myself,
          that my Father bought me —
          They are better than Beings —
          because they know — but do
          not tell. 

       The right to perish might be
          thought
          An undisputed right — 
          Attempt it, and the Universe
          Upon the opposite
          Will concentrate its officers — 
          You cannot even die
          But nature and mankind must
          pause
          To pay you scrutiny. 

          Love — is anterior to Life —
          Posterior — to Death —
          Initial of Creation, and
          The Exponent of Earth. 

       We noticed smallest things —
          Things overlooked before
          By this great light upon our
          Minds
          Italicized — as 'twere 

          A word is dead
          When it is said,
          Some say.
          I say it just
          Begins to live
          That day.

       Behind Me — dips Eternity — 
          Before Me — Immortality — 
          Myself — the Term between — 

          Susan Gilbert Dickinson to
          Emily Dickinson in 1861, "If a
          nightingale sings with her
          breast against a thorn, why not
          we?"

       Because I could not stop for
          Death,
          He kindly stopped for me.

          Parting is all we know of
          heaven,
          And all we need of hell.

       If I can stop one heart from
          breaking,
          I shall not live in vain:
          If I can ease one life the aching,
          Or cool one pain,
          Or help one fainting robin
          Unto his nest again,
          I shall not live in vain. 

Music by: Hoagy Carmichael

Words by: Mitchell Parish

And now the purple dusk of twilight time

Steals across the meadows of my heart.

High up in the sky the little clouds climb,

Always reminding me that we're apart.

You wandered down the lane and far away.

Leaving me a song that will not die. 

Love is now the stardust of yesterday,

The music of the years gone by.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend 

The lonely night dreaming of a song.

The melody haunts my reverie,

And I am once again with you.

When our love was new, 

And each kiss an inspiration,

But that was long ago:

Now my consolation is in the stardust of a song.

Beside a garden wall when stars are bright, you are in my arms

The nightingale tells his fairy tale

Of paradise where roses grew.

Tho' I dream in vain

In my heart it will remain:

My stardust melody

The memory of love's refrain.