One need not be a chamber to be haunted. - Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

"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 stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chilliest landAnd on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me."

"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit."

"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit."

"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.The thought behind, I strove to joinUnto the thought before—But Sequence ravelled out of SoundLike Balls—upon a Floor."

"THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire,He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her.Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door,To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more."