In falling Timbers buried —
There breathed a Man —
Outside — the spades — were plying —
The Lungs — within —

Could He — know — they sought Him —
Could They — know — He breathed —
Horrid Sand Partition —
Neither — could be heard —

Never slacked the Diggers —
But when Spades

Inconceivably solemn!
Things go gay
Pierce — by the very Press
Of Imagery —

Their far Parades — order on the eye
With a mute Pomp —
A pleading Pageantry —

Flags, are a brave sight —
But no true Eye
Ever went by One —
Steadily —

Music’s triumphant —
But the fine Ear
Winces with delight
Are Drums too near —

–

Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in –
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist –
Hist! Whist! I’d come!
– Emily Dickinson

Mine — by the Right of the White Election!
Mine — by the Royal Seal!
Mine — by the Sign in the Scarlet prison —
Bars — cannot conceal!

Mine — here — in Vision — and in Veto!
Mine — by the Grave’s Repeal —
Tilted — Confirmed —
Delirious Charter!
Mine — long as Ages

No Rack can torture me —
My Soul — at Liberty —
Behind this mortal Bone
There knits a bolder One —

You cannot prick with saw —
Nor pierce with Scimitar —
Two Bodies — therefore be —
Bind One — The Other fly —

The Eagle of his Nest
No easier divest —
And gain the Sky
Than

No man saw awe, nor to his house
Admitted he a man
Though by his awful residence
Has human nature been.

Not deeming of his dread abode
Till laboring to flee
A grasp on comprehension laid
Detained vitality.

Returning is a different route
The Spirit could not show
For breathing is the only work
To be enacted now.

“Am not consumed,”

No matter — now — Sweet —
But when I’m Earl —
Won’t you wish you’d spoken
To that dull Girl?

Trivial a Word — just —
Trivial — a Smile —
But won’t you wish you’d spared one
When I’m Earl?

I shan’t need it — then —
Crests — will do —
Eagles on my Buckles —
On

Of God we ask one favor,
That we may be forgiven —
For what, he is presumed to know —
The Crime, from us, is hidden —
Immured the whole of Life
Within a magic Prison
We reprimand the Happiness
That too competes with Heaven.

Some Wretched creature, savior take
Who would exult to die
And leave for thy sweet mercy’s sake
Another Hour to me
-Emily Dickinson

Soul, take thy risk.
With Death to be
Were better than be not
With thee
-Emily Dickinson

Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves —

Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.

The eye begins its avarice
A meditation chastens speech
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy

Sweet — safe — Houses —
Glad — gay — Houses —
Sealed so stately tight —
Lids of Steel — on Lids of Marble —
Locking Bare feet out —

Brooks of Plush — in Banks of Satin
Not so softly fall
As the laughter — and the whisper —
From their People Pearl —

No Bald

Taking up the fair Ideal,
Just to cast her down
When a fracture — we discover —
Or a splintered Crown —
Makes the Heavens portable —
And the Gods — a lie —
Doubtless — “Adam” — scowled at Eden —
For his perjury!

Cherishing — our pool Ideal —
Till in purer dress —
We behold her

Than Heaven more remote,
For Heaven is the root,
But these the flitted seed.
More flown indeed
Than ones that never were,
Or those that hide, and are.

What madness, by their side,
A vision to provide
Of future days
They cannot praise.

My soul, to find them, come,
They cannot call, they’re dumb,
Nor prove, nor woo,
But that they have

The face I carry with me — last —
When I go out of Time —
To take my Rank — by — in the West —
That face — will just be thine —

I’ll hand it to the Angel —
That — Sir — was my Degree —
In Kingdoms — you have

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by —
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself —
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life —
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To

The first Day that I was a Life
I recollect it — How still —
That last Day that I was a Life
I recollect it — as well —

‘Twas stiller — though the first
Was still —
“Twas empty — but the first
Was full —

This — was my finallest Occasion —
But then
My tenderer

The Frost was never seen —
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team —
The Flowers notice first

A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him

Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.

Unproved is much we know

The Gentian has a parched Corolla —
Like azure dried
‘Tis Nature’s buoyant juices
Beatified —
Without a vaunt or sheen
As casual as Rain
And as benign —

When most is part — it comes —
Nor isolate it seems
Its Bond its Friend —
To fill its Fringed career
And aid an aged Year
Abundant end —

Its lot —