Collected Poems

by Emily Dickinson

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!

I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love; but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me.

I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too?

I found the phrase to every thought I ever had, but one;

Power is only pain,

The soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, — Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.