Emily Dickinson

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind —
As if my Brain had split —
I tried to match it — Seam by Seam —
But could not make it fit.

The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before —
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound
Like Balls — upon a Floor.
– Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading — treading — till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through —

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum —
Kept beating — beating — till I thought
My Mind was going numb —

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space — began to toll,

As all the

I fit for them –
I seek the Dark
Till I am thorough fit.
The labor is a sober one
With this sufficient sweet
That abstinence of mine produce
A purer food for them, if I succeed,
If not I had
The transport of the Aim –
-Emily Dickinson

I found the words to every thought
I ever had — but One —
And that — defies me —
As a Hand did try to chalk the Sun

To Races — nurtured in the Dark —
How would your own — begin?
Can Blaze be shown in Cochineal —
Or Noon — in Mazarin?
– Emily Dickinson

I gained it so —
By Climbing slow —
By Catching at the Twigs that grow
Between the Bliss — and me —
It hung so high
As well the Sky
Attempt by Strategy —

I said I gained it —
This — was all —
Look, how I clutch it
Lest it fall —
And I a Pauper go —
Unfitted by an instant’s Grace
For the Contented — Beggar’s face
I wore — an hour ago —

I gave myself to Him —
And took Himself, for Pay,
The solemn contract of a Life
Was ratified, this way —

The Wealth might disappoint —
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great Purchaser suspect,
The Daily Own — of Love

Depreciate the Vision —
But till the Merchant buy —
Still Fable — in the Isles of Spice —
The subtle Cargoes — lie —

At least — ’tis Mutual — Risk —
Some — found it — Mutual

I got so I could take his name —
Without — Tremendous gain —
That Stop-sensation — on my Soul —
And Thunder — in the Room —

I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned — how —
And all our Sinew tore —

I got so I could stir the Box —
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath —
As Staples —

I groped for him before I knew
With solemn nameless need
All other bounty sudden chaff
For this foreshadowed Food
Which others taste and spurn and sneer –
Though I within suppose
That consecrated it could be
The only Food that grows
-Emily Dickinson

I had a daily Bliss
I half indifferent viewed
Till sudden I perceived it stir –
It grew as I pursued

Till when around a Height
It wasted from my sight
Increased beyond my utmost scope
I learned to estimate.
-Emily Dickinson

I had a guinea golden —
I lost it in the sand —
And tho’ the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land —
Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye —
That when I could not find it —
I sat me down to sigh.

I had a crimson Robin —
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted,
He, too, did fly away —

Time brought me other Robins —
Their

I had been hungry, all the Years —
My Noon had Come — to dine —
I trembling drew the Table near —
And touched the Curious Wine —

‘Twas this on Tables I had seen —
When turning, hungry, Home
I looked in Windows, for the Wealth
I could not hope — for Mine —

I did not know the ample Bread —
‘Twas so unlike the Crumb
The Birds and I, had often shared
In Nature’s — Dining

I had no Cause to be awake —
My Best — was gone to sleep —
And Morn a new politeness took —
And failed to wake them up —

But called the others — clear —
And passed their Curtains by —
Sweet Morning — when I oversleep —
Knock — Recollect — to Me —

I looked at Sunrise — Once —
And then I looked at Them —
And wishfulness in me arose —
For Circumstance the

I had no time to Hate —
Because
The Grave would hinder Me —
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish — Enmity —

Nor had I time to Love —
But since
Some Industry must be —
The little Toil of Love —
I thought
Be large enough for Me —
-Emily Dickinson

I had not minded – Walls –
Were Universe — one Rock —
And far I heard his silver Call
The other side the Block —

I’d tunnel — till my Groove
Pushed sudden thro’ to his —
Then my face take her Recompense —
The looking in his Eyes —

But ’tis a single Hair —
A filament — a law —
A Cobweb — wove in Adamant —
A Battlement — of Straw –

A limit like the Veil
Unto

I had some things that I called mine —
And God, that he called his,
Till, recently a rival Claim
Disturbed these amities.

The property, my garden,
Which having sown with care,
He claims the pretty acre,
And sends a Bailiff there.

The station of the parties
Forbids publicity,
But Justice is sublimer
Than arms, or pedigree.

I’ll institute an “Action” —
I’ll vindicate the law —
Jove! Choose your counsel —
I retain “Shaw”!

I had the Glory — that will do —
An Honor, Thought can turn her to
When lesser Fames invite —
With one long “Nay” —
Bliss’ early shape
Deforming — Dwindling — Gulfing up —
Time’s possibility.
-Emily Dickinson

I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing —
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears —
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.

Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown —
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.

Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine —
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They’re thine.

In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each

I have a King, who does not speak —
So — wondering — thro’ the hours meek
I trudge the day away —
Half glad when it is night, and sleep,
If, haply, thro’ a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day.

And if I do — when morning comes —
It is as if a hundred drums
Did round my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my Childish sky,
And Bells keep saying “Victory”
From steeples in my

I have never seen “Volcanoes” —
But, when Travellers tell
How those old — phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still —

Bear within — appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men —

If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place —

If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome —
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?

If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with

I have no Life but this —
To lead it here —
Nor any Death — but lest
Dispelled from there —

Nor tie to Earths to come —
Nor Action new —
Except through this extent —
The Realm of you —
-Emily Dickinson

I haven’t told my garden yet —
Lest that should conquer me.
I haven’t quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee —

I will not name it in the street
For shops would stare at me —
That one so shy — so ignorant
Should have the face to die.

The hillsides must not know it —
Where I have rambled so —
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go —

Nor lisp it

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air —
Between the Heaves of Storm —

The Eyes around — had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset — when the King
Be witnessed — in the Room —

I willed my Keepsakes — Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable — and then it was
There interposed a Fly

I heard, as if I had no Ear
Until a Vital Word
Came all the way from Life to me
And then I knew I heard.

I saw, as if my Eye were on
Another, till a Thing
And now I know ’twas Light, because
It fitted them, came in.

I dwelt, as if Myself, were out,
My Body but within
Until a Might detected me
And set my kernel in.

And Spirit turned unto the Dust
“Old Friend, thou knowest me,”
And

I held a Jewel in my fingers –
And went to sleep —
The day was warm, and winds were prosy —
I said “‘Twill keep” —

I woke — and chid my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone –
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own –
-Emily Dickinson