Emily Dickinson

Dying at my music!
Bubble! Bubble!
Hold me till the Octave’s run!
Quick! Burst the Windows!
Ritardando!
Phials left, and the Sun!

-Emily Dickinson

Each Life Converges to some Centre —
Expressed — or still —
Exists in every Human Nature
A Goal —

Embodied scarcely to itself — it may be —
Too fair
For Credibility’s presumption
To mar —

Adored with caution — as a Brittle Heaven —
To reach
Were hopeless, as the Rainbow’s Raiment
To touch —

Yet persevered toward — sure — for the Distance —
How high —
Unto the Saint’s slow diligence —
The Sky —

Ungained — it may be —

Each Scar I’ll keep for Him
Instead I’ll say of Gem
In His long Absence worn
A Costlier one

But every Tear I bore
Were He to count them o’er
His own would fall so more
I’ll mis sum them.
-Emily Dickinson

Each Second is the last
Perhaps, recalls the Man
Just measuring unconsciousness
The Sea and Spar between.

To fail within a Chance –
How terribler a thing
Than perish from the Chance’s list
Before the Perishing!
-Emily Dickinson

Each that we lose takes part of us;
A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
Is summoned by the tides.
-Emily Dickinson

Eden is that old-fashioned House
We dwell in every day
Without suspecting our abode
Until we drive away.

How fair on looking back, the Day
We sauntered from the Door –
Unconscious our returning,
But discover it no more.
-Emily Dickinson

Elijah’s Wagon knew no thill
Was innocent of Wheel
Elijah’s horses as unique
As was his vehicle —

Elijah’s journey to portray
Expire with him the skill
Who justified Elijah
In feats inscrutable —
-Emily Dickinson

Elizabeth told Essex
That she could not forgive
The clemency of Deity
However — might survive —
That secondary succor
We trust that she partook
When suing — like her Essex
For a reprieving Look —
-Emily Dickinson

Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest Room
If in that Room a Friend await
Felicity or Doom —

What fortitude the Soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming Foot —
The opening of a Door —
-Emily Dickinson

Embarrassment of one another
And God
Is Revelation’s limit,
Aloud
Is nothing that is chief,
But still,
Divinity dwells under a seal.
-Emily Dickinson

Empty my Heart, of Thee —
Its single Artery —
Begin, and leave Thee out —
Simply Extinction’s Date —

Much Billow hath the Sea —
One Baltic — They —
Subtract Thyself, in play,
And not enough of me
Is left — to put away —
“Myself” meanth Thee —

Erase the Root — no Tree —
Thee — then — no me —
The Heavens stripped —
Eternity’s vast pocket, picked —
-Emily Dickinson

Endanger it, and the Demand
Of tickets for a sigh
Amazes the Humility
Of Credibility –

Recover it to Nature
And that dejected Fleet
Find Consternation’s Carnival
Divested of its Meat.
-Emily Dickinson

Ended, ere it begun –
The Title was scarcely told
When the Preface perished from Consciousness
The Story, unrevealed –

Had it been mine, to print!
Had it been yours, to read!
That it was not Our privilege
The interdict of God –
-Emily Dickinson

Endow the Living — with the Tears —
You squander on the Dead,
And They were Men and Women — now,
Around Your Fireside —

Instead of Passive Creatures,
Denied the Cherishing
Till They — the Cherishing deny —
With Death’s Ethereal Scron —
-Emily Dickinson

Escape is such a thankful Word
I often in the Night
Consider it unto myself
No spectacle in sight

Escape — it is the Basket
In which the Heart is caught
When down some awful Battlement
The rest of Life is dropt —

‘Tis not to sight the savior —
It is to be the saved —
And that is why I lay my Head
Upon this trusty word —
-Emily Dickinson

Escaping backward to perceive
The Sea upon our place –
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace –

Retreating up, a Billow’s height
Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.
-Emily Dickinson

Essential Oils — are wrung —
The Attar from the Rose
Be not expressed by Suns — alone —
It is the gift of Screws —

The General Rose — decay —
But this — in Lady’s Drawer
Make Summer — When the Lady lie
In Ceaseless Rosemary —
-Emily Dickinson

Estranged from Beauty — none can be —
For Beauty is Infinity —
And power to be finite ceased
Before Identity was leased.
-Emily Dickinson

Except the Heaven had come so near —
So seemed to choose My Door —
The Distance would not haunt me so —
I had not hoped — before —

But just to hear the Grace depart —
I never thought to see —
Afflicts me with a Double loss —
‘Tis lost — and lost to me —
-Emily Dickinson

Except the smaller size
No lives are round —
These — hurry to a sphere
And show and end —
The larger — slower grow
And later hang —
The Summers of Hesperides
Are long.
-Emily Dickinson

Except to Heaven, she is nought.
Except for Angels — lone.
Except to some wide-wandering Bee
A flower superfluous blown.

Except for winds — provincial.
Except by Butterflies
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the Acre lies.

The smallest Housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the Lawn
And somebody has lost the face
That made Existence — Home!
-Emily Dickinson

Exhilaration — is within —
There can no Outer Wine
So royally intoxicate
As that diviner Brand

The Soul achieves — Herself —
To drink — or set away
For Visitor — Or Sacrament —
‘Tis not of Holiday

To stimulate a Man
Who hath the Ample Rhine
Within his Closet — Best you can
Exhale in offering.
-Emily Dickinson

Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found –

Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground –
-Emily Dickinson

Expanse cannot be lost —
Not Joy, but a Decree
Is Deity —
His Scene, Infinity —
Whose rumor’s Gate was shut so tight
Before my Beam was sown,
Not even a Prognostic’s push
Could make a Dent thereon —

The World that thou hast opened
Shuts for thee,
But not alone,
We all have followed thee —
Escape more slowly
To thy Tracts of Sheen —
The Tent is listening,
But the Troops are gone!
-Emily Dickinson

Expectation — is Contentment —
Gain — Satiety —
But Satiety — Conviction
Of Necessity

Of an Austere trait in Pleasure —
Good, without alarm
Is a too established Fortune —
Danger — deepens Sum —
-Emily Dickinson