LOVE

There is a word
which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man
It hurls its barbed syllables –
At once is mute again.
But where it fell,
The saved will tell
on patriotic day,
some epaulleted brother
gave his breath away.
Emily Dickinson

XXII

And everywhere of silver,
with ropes of sand
to keep it from effacing
the track called land.

LVI

The pedigree of honey
does not concern the bee;
a clover, any time, to him
is aristocracy.

LOVE

Written by Emily Dickinson