Emily Dickinson

I hide myself within my flower,
That fading from your Vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me –
Almost a loneliness.
-Emily Dickinson

I keep my pledge.
I was not called —
Death did not notice me.
I bring my Rose.
I plight again,
By every sainted Bee —
By Daisy called from hillside —
by Bobolink from lane.
Blossom and I —
Her oath, and mine —
Will surely come again.
-Emily Dickinson

I knew that I had gained
And yet I knew not how
By Diminution it was not
But Discipline unto

A Rigor unrelieved
Except by the Content
Another bear its Duplicate
In other Continent.
-Emily Dickinson

I know Suspense — it steps so terse
And turns so weak away —
Besides — Suspense is neighborly
When I am riding by —

Is always at the Window
Though lately I descry
And mention to my Horses
The need is not of me —
-Emily Dickinson

I know a place where Summer strives
With such a practised Frost —
She — each year — leads her Daisies back —
Recording briefly — “Lost” —

But when the South Wind stirs the Pools
And struggles in the lanes —
Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow —
And she pours soft Refrains

Into the lap of Adamant —
And spices — and the Dew —
That stiffens quietly to Quartz —
Upon her Amber Shoe —

I know lives, I could miss
Without a Misery —
Others — whose instant’s wanting —
Would be Eternity —

The last — a scanty Number —
‘Twould scarcely fill a Two —
The first — a Gnat’s Horizon
Could easily outgrow —
-Emily Dickinson

I know of people in the Grave
Who would be very glad
To know the news I know tonight
If they the chance had had.

‘Tis this expands the least event
And swells the scantest deed —
My right to walk upon the Earth
If they this moment had.
-Emily Dickinson

I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of —
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to —
A Portico,
Where two could creep —
One — hand the Tools —
The other peep —
To make sure All’s Asleep —
Old fashioned eyes —
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock —
But they could gag the Tick —
And Mice won’t bark —
And so the Walls — don’t

I know that He exists.
Somewhere — in Silence —
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.

‘Tis an instant’s play.
‘Tis a fond Ambush —
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!

But — should the play
Prove piercing earnest —
Should the glee — glaze —
In Death’s — stiff — stare —

Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest —
Have crawled too far!

I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells —
Deep dug — for Summer days —
Where Mosses go no more away —
And Pebble — safely plays —

It’s made of Fathoms — and a Belt —
A Belt of jagged Stone —
Inlaid with Emerald — half way down —
And Diamonds — jumbled on —

It has no Bucket — Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy —
I’m often thirsty — but my

I learned — at least — what Home could be —
How ignorant I had been
Of pretty ways of Covenant —
How awkward at the Hymn

Round our new Fireside — but for this —
This pattern — of the Way —
Whose Memory drowns me, like the Dip
Of a Celestial Sea —

What Mornings in our Garden — guessed —
What Bees — for us — to hum —
With only Birds to interrupt
The Ripple of

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it’s true —
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe —

The Eyes glaze once — and that is Death —
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.
-Emily Dickinson

I like to see it lap the Miles —
And lick the Valleys up —
And stop to feed itself at Tanks —
And then — prodigious step

Around a Pile of Mountains —
And supercilious peer
In Shanties — by the sides of Roads —
And then a Quarry pare

To fit its Ribs
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid — hooting stanza —
Then chase itself down Hill —

And neigh like Boanerges —
Then — punctual as

I lived on Dread —
To Those who know
The Stimulus there is
In Danger — Other impetus
Is numb — and Vitalless —

As ’twere a Spur — upon the Soul —
A Fear will urge it where
To go without the Sceptre’s aid
Were Challenging Despair.
-Emily Dickinson

I live with Him — I see His face —
I go no more away
For Visitor — or Sundown —
Death’s single privacy

The Only One — forestalling Mine —
And that — by Right that He
Presents a Claim invisible —
No wedlock — granted Me —

I live with Him — I hear His Voice —
I stand alive — Today —
To witness to the Certainty
Of Immortality —

Taught Me — by Time — the lower

I lost a World — the other day!
Has Anybody found?
You’ll know it by the Row of Stars
Around its forehead bound.

A Rich man — might not notice it —
Yet — to my frugal Eye,
Of more Esteem than Ducats —
Oh find it — Sir — for me!
-Emily Dickinson

I made slow Riches but my Gain
Was steady as the Sun
And every Night, it numbered more
Than the preceding One

All Days, I did not earn the same
But my perceiveless Gain
Inferred the less by Growing than
The Sum that it had grown.
-Emily Dickinson

I make His Crescent fill or lack —
His Nature is at Full
Or Quarter — as I signify —
His Tides — do I control —

He holds superior in the Sky
Or gropes, at my Command
Behind inferior Clouds — or round
A Mist’s slow Colonnade —

But since We hold a Mutual Disc —
And front a Mutual Day —
Which is the Despot, neither knows —
Nor Whose — the Tyranny —

I many times thought Peace had come
When Peace was far away —
As Wrecked Men — deem they sight the Land —
At Centre of the Sea —

And struggle slacker — but to prove
As hopelessly as I —
How many the fictitious Shores —
Before the Harbor be —
-Emily Dickinson

I meant to find Her when I came —
Death — had the same design —
But the Success — was His — it seems —
And the Surrender — Mine —

I meant to tell Her how I longed
For just this single time —
But Death had told Her so the first —
And she had past, with Him —

To wander — now — is my Repose —
To rest — To rest would be
A

I meant to have but modest needs —
Such as Content — and Heaven —
Within my income — these could lie
And Life and I — keep even —

But since the last — included both —
It would suffice my Prayer
But just for One — to stipulate —
And Grace would grant the Pair —

And so — upon this wise — I prayed —
Great Spirit — Give to me
A Heaven not so large

I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes —
I wonder if It weighs like Mine —
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long —
Or did it just begin —
I could not tell the Date of Mine —
It feels so old a pain —

I wonder if it hurts to live —
And if They have to try —
And whether — could They choose between —
It would not

I met a King this afternoon!
He had not on a Crown indeed,
A little Palmleaf Hat was all,
And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!

But sure I am he Ermine wore
Beneath his faded Jacket’s blue —
And sure I am, the crest he bore
Within that Jacket’s pocket too!

For ’twas too stately for an Earl —
A Marquis would not go so grand!
‘Twas possibly a Czar petite —
A Pope, or something of that kind!

If I

I never felt at Home — Below —
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home — I know —
I don’t like Paradise —

Because it’s Sunday — all the time —
And Recess — never comes —
And Eden’ll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday Afternoons —

If God could make a visit —
Or ever took a Nap —
So not to see us — but they say
Himself — a Telescope

Perennial beholds us —
Myself

I never hear that one is dead
Without the chance of Life
Afresh annihilating me
That mightiest Belief,

Too mighty for the Daily mind
That tilling its abyss,
Had Madness, had it once or twice
The yawning Consciousness,

Beliefs are Bandaged, like the Tongue
When Terror were it told
In any Tone commensurate
Would strike us instant Dead

I do not know the man so bold
He dare in lonely Place
That awful stranger Consciousness
Deliberately face —