Difficult, difficult choice. However, I think I’ll go with Emily Dickinson, whose poetry captivated me from the very first encounter. Here are a few favorites:
I’m Nobody! Who are you?Are you – Nobody – too?Then there’s a pair of us?Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!How dreary – to be – Somebody!How public – like a Frog –To tell one’s name – the livelong June –To an admiring Bog!
Much Madness is divinest Sense
Much Madness is divinest Sense —To a discerning Eye —Much Sense — the starkest Madness —’Tis the MajorityIn this, as All, prevail —Assent — and you are sane —Demur — you’re straightway dangerous —And handled with a Chain —
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -That 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 -That could abash the little BirdThat kept so many warm -I’ve heard it in the chillest land -And on the strangest Sea -Yet – never – in Extremity,It asked a crumb – of me.
The Bustle in a House
The Bustle in a HouseThe Morning after DeathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted opon Earth –The Sweeping up the HeartAnd putting Love awayWe shall not want to use againUntil Eternity –