The following is a little collection of my favorite poetry by Emily Dickinson

    For each ecstatic instantWe must an anguish payIn keen and quivering ratioTo the ectasty.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears. Hope is the thing Hope is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soul,And sings the tune without the words,And never stops at all,And sweetest in the gale is heard;And sore must be the storm...more