Emily Dickinson's deeply sensitive poetry always wrenches my gut. How exacting and perfect is this way of expressing the value of her life - it's not the length of life that counts, but what you do with the time you have:
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
(If I can stop one heart from breaking - Emily Dickinson)
If you can show compassion for any other living creature, your life will have been worthwhile.
This other "observation" of hers always catches my breath:
Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
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