Emily Dickinson

Guest am I to have
Light my northern room
Why to cordiality so averse to come
Other friends adjourn
Other bonds decay
Why avoid so narrowly
My fidelity –
-Emily Dickinson

Had I known that the first was the last
I should have kept it longer.
Had I known that the last was the first
I should have drunk it stronger.
Cup, it was your fault,
Lip was not the liar.
No, lip, it was yours,
Bliss was most to blame.
-Emily Dickinson

Had I not This, or This, I said,
Appealing to Myself,
In moment of prosperity —
Inadequate — were Life —

“Thou hast not Me, nor Me” — it said,
In Moment of Reverse —
“And yet Thou art industrious —
No need — hadst Thou — of us”?

My need — was all I had — I said —
The need did not reduce —
Because the food — exterminate —
The hunger — does not cease —

But diligence

Had I not seen the Sun
I could have borne the shade
But Light a newer Wilderness
My Wilderness has made –
-Emily Dickinson

Had I presumed to hope —
The loss had been to Me
A Value — for the Greatness’ Sake —
As Giants — gone away —

Had I presumed to gain
A Favor so remote —
The failure but confirm the Grace
In further Infinite —

‘Tis failure — not of Hope —
But Confident Despair —
Advancing on Celestial Lists —
With faint — Terrestial power —

‘Tis Honor — though I die —
For That no Man obtain
Till He be

Had this one Day not been.
Or could it cease to be
How smitten, how superfluous,
Were every other Day!

Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more
Had it the stricken privilege,
It cherishes before.
-Emily Dickinson

Had we known the Ton she bore
We had helped the terror
But she straighter walked for Freight
So be hers the error –
-Emily Dickinson

Had we our senses
But perhaps ’tis well they’re not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He’s liable with them

Had we the eyes without our Head –
How well that we are Blind –
We could not look upon the Earth –
So utterly unmoved –
-Emily Dickinson

Have any like Myself
Investigating March,
New Houses on the Hill descried —
And possibly a Church —

That were not, We are sure —
As lately as the Snow —
And are Today — if We exist —
Though how may this be so?

Have any like Myself
Conjectured Who may be
The Occupants of the Adobes —
So easy to the Sky —

‘Twould seem that God should be
The nearest Neighbor to —
And Heaven — a convenient Grace
For Show,

Have you got a Brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so —

And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there,
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there —

Why, look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the fills,
And the bridges often go —

And later, in August it

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I — tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave —
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you’re lagging
I remember him!
-Emily Dickinson

Heart, not so heavy as mine
Wending late home —
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune —
A careless snatch — a ballad — A ditty of the street —
Yet to my irritated Ear
An Anodyne so sweet —
It was as if a Bobolink
Sauntering this way
Carolled, and paused, and carolled —
Then bubbled slow away!
It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a dusty way —
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why!
Tomorrow,

He ate and drank the precious Words —
His Spirit grew robust —
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was Dust —

He danced along the dingy Days
And this Bequest of Wings
Was but a Book — What Liberty
A loosened spirit brings —
-Emily Dickinson

Heaven is so far of the Mind
That were the Mind dissolved —
The Site — of it — by Architect
Could not again be proved —

‘Tis vast — as our Capacity —
As fair — as our idea —
To Him of adequate desire
No further ’tis, than Here –
-Emily Dickinson

“Heaven” — is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree —
Provided it do hopeless — hang —
That — “Heaven” is — to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud —
The interdicted Land —
Behind the Hill — the House behind —
There — Paradise — is found!

Her teasing Purples — Afternoons —
The credulous — decoy —
Enamored — of the Conjuror —
That spurned us — Yesterday!

“Heaven” has different Signs — to me —
Sometimes, I think that Noon
Is but a symbol of the Place —
And when again, at Dawn,

A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills —
An Awe if it should be like that
Upon the Ignorance steals —

The Orchard, when the Sun is on —
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make —
Some Carnivals of Clouds —

The Rapture of a finished

“Heavenly Father” — take to thee
The supreme iniquity
Fashioned by thy candid Hand
In a moment contraband —
Though to trust us — seems to us
More respectful — “We are Dust” —
We apologize to thee
For thine own Duplicity —
-Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That 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 storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb —

“Houses” — so the Wise Men tell me —
“Mansions”! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!

“Many Mansions,” by “his Father,”
I don’t know him; snugly built!
Could the Children find the way there —
Some, would even trudge tonight!
-Emily Dickinson

He forgot — and I — remembered —
‘Twas an everyday affair —
Long ago as Christ and Peter —
“Warmed them” at the “Temple fire.”

“Thou wert with him” — quoth “the Damsel”?
“No” — said Peter, ’twasn’t me —
Jesus merely “looked” at Peter —
Could I do aught else — to Thee?
-Emily Dickinson

He fought like those Who’ve nought to lose —
Bestowed Himself to Balls
As One who for a further Life
Had not a further Use —

Invited Death — with bold attempt —
But Death was Coy of Him
As Other Men, were Coy of Death —
To Him — to live — was Doom —

His Comrades, shifted like the Flakes
When Gusts reverse the Snow —
But He — was left alive Because
Of Greediness to die —

He found my Being — set it up —
Adjusted it to place —
Then carved his name — upon it —
And bade it to the East

Be faithful — in his absence —
And he would come again —
With Equipage of Amber —
That time — to take it Home —

-Emily Dickinson

He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on —
He stuns you by degrees —
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers — further heard —
Then nearer — Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten —
Your Brain — to bubble Cool —
Deals — One — imperial — Thunderbolt —
That scalps your naked Soul —

When Winds take Forests in the Paws —
The Universe

He gave away his Life —
To Us — Gigantic Sum —
A trifle — in his own esteem —
But magnified — by Fame —

Until it burst the Hearts
That fancied they could hold —
When swift it slipped its limit —
And on the Heavens — unrolled —

‘Tis Ours — to wince — and weep —
And wonder — and decay
By Blossoms gradual process —
He chose — Maturity —

And quickening — as we sowed

He is alive, this morning —
He is alive — and awake —
Birds are resuming for Him —
Blossoms — dress for His Sake.
Bees — to their Loaves of Honey
Add an Amber Crumb
Him — to regale — Me — Only —
Motion, and am dumb.
-Emily Dickinson