Sunday, November 19, 2000



A route of evanescence
With a revolving wheel;
A resonance of emerald,
A rush of cochineal;
And every blosson on the bush
Adjusts its tumbled head, -
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy morning's ride.
P.S. The bobolinks have gone.

Saturday, November 18, 2000


To Emily's brother, Austin. March 18th, 1853

Dear Austin-
I presume you remember a story that Vinnie tells of a breach of promise case where the correspondence between the parties consisted of a reply from the girl to one she had never received but was daily expecting. Well, I am writing an answer to the letter I haven't had, so you will see the force of the accompanying anecdote. I have been looking for you ever since despatching my last, but this is a fickle world, and it's a great source of complacency that 'twill all be burned up by and by.

Thursday, November 16, 2000



Emily Dickinson


I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,

And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie.