Emily Dickinson

I was the slightest in the House —
I took the smallest Room —
At night, my little Lamp, and Book —
And one Geranium —

So stationed I could catch the Mint
That never ceased to fall —
And just my Basket —
Let me think — I’m sure —
That this was all —

I never spoke — unless addressed —
And then, ’twas brief and low —
I could not bear to live — aloud —
The Racket

I watched the Moon around the House
Until upon a Pane —
She stopped — a Traveller’s privilege — for Rest —
And there upon

I gazed — as at a stranger —
The Lady in the Town
Doth think no incivility
To lift her Glass — upon —

But never Stranger justified
The Curiosity
Like Mine — for not a Foot — nor Hand —
Nor Formula — had she —

But like a Head — a Guillotine
Slid carelessly away

I watcher her face to see which way
She took the awful news –
Whether she died before she heard
Or in protracted bruise
Remained a few slow years with us –
Each heavier than the last –
A further afternoon to fail,
As Flower at fall of Frost.
-Emily Dickinson

“I want” – it pleaded – All its life –
I want – was chief it said
When Skill entreated it – the last –
And when so newly dead –

I could not deem it late – to hear
That single – steadfast sigh –
The lips had placed as with a “Please”
Toward Eternity –
-Emily Dickinson

I went to Heaven —
‘Twas a small Town —
Lit — with a Ruby —
Lathed — with Down —

Stiller — than the fields
At the full Dew —
Beautiful — as Pictures —
No Man drew.
People — like the Moth —
Of Mechlin — frames —
Duties — of Gossamer —
And Eider — names —
Almost — contented —
I — could be —
‘Mong such unique
Society –

I went to thank Her —
But She Slept —
Her Bed — a funneled Stone —
With Nosegays at the Head and Foot —
That Travellers — had thrown —

Who went to thank Her —
But She Slept —
‘Twas Short — to cross the Sea —
To look upon Her like — alive —
But turning back — ’twas slow —

I worked for chaff and earning Wheat
Was haughty and betrayed.
What right had Fields to arbitrate
In matters ratified?

I tasted Wheat and hated Chaff
And thanked the ample friend —
Wisdom is more becoming viewed
At distance than at hand.
-Emily Dickinson

I would distil a cup,
And bear to all my friends,
Drinking to her no more astir,
By beck, or burn, or moor!
-Emily Dickinson

I would not paint — a picture —
I’d rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwell — delicious — on —
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare — celestial — stir —
Evokes so sweet a Torment —
Such sumptuous — Despair —

I would not talk, like Cornets —
I’d rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings —
And out, and easy on —
Through Villages of Ether —
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip

I Years had been from Home
And now before the Door
I dared not enter, lest a Face
I never saw before

Stare solid into mine
And ask my Business there —
“My Business but a Life I left
Was such remaining there?”

I leaned upon the Awe —
I lingered with Before —
The Second like an Ocean rolled
And broke against my ear –

I laughed a crumbling Laugh
That I could fear a Door
Who Consternation compassed
And never winced before.

I

I’d rather recollect a setting
Than own a rising sun
Though one is beautiful forgetting –
And true the other one.

Because in going is a Drama
Staying cannot confer
To die divinely once a Twilight –
Than wane is easier –
-Emily Dickinson

I’ll clutch — and clutch —
Next — One — Might be the golden touch —
Could take it —
Diamonds — Wait —
I’m diving — just a little late —
But stars — go slow — for night —

I’ll string you — in fine Necklace —
Tiaras — make — of some —
Wear you on Hem —
Loop up a Countess — with you —
Make — a Diadem — and mend my old One

I’ll send the feather from my Hat!
Who knows — but at the sight of that
My Sovereign will relent?
As trinket — worn by faded Child —
Confronting eyes long — comforted —
Blisters the Adamant!
-Emily Dickinson

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose —
A Ribbon at a time —
The Steeples swam in Amethyst —
The news, like Squirrels, ran —
The Hills untied their Bonnets —
The Bobolinks — begun —
Then I said softly to myself —
“That must have been the Sun”!
But how he set — I know not —
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while —
Till when they reached

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you — Nobody — Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise — you know!

How dreary — to be — Somebody!
How public — like a Frog —
To tell one’s name — the livelong June —
To an admiring Bog!
-Emily Dickinson

I’m ceded — I’ve stopped being Theirs —
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
I’ve finished threading — too —

Baptized, before, without the choice,
But this time, consciously, of Grace —
Unto supremest name —
Called to my Full — The Crescent dropped —
Existence’s whole Arc, filled up,
With one small Diadem.

My second

I’m saying every day
“If I should be a Queen, tomorrow” —
I’d do this way —
And so I deck, a little,

If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious —
With “This was she —
Begged in the Market place —
Yesterday.”

Court is a stately place —
I’ve heard men say —
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup —
That not too plain —
Rank — overtake me —

And

I’m sorry for the Dead — Today —
It’s such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences —
It’s time o’ year for Hay.

And Broad — Sunburned Acquaintance
Discourse between the Toil —
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile —

It seems so straight to lie away
From all of the noise of Fields —
The Busy Carts — the fragrant Cocks —
The Mower’s Metre — Steals —

A Trouble lest they’re homesick —
Those

I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”!
I don’t care for pouting skies!
If the Butterfly delay
Can I, therefore, stay away?

If the Coward Bumble Bee
In his chimney corner stay,
I, must resoluter be!
Who’ll apologize for me?

Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!
Eden is old fashioned, too!
Birds are antiquated fellows!
Heaven does not change her blue.
Nor will I, the little Heart’s Ease —
Ever be induced to do!

I’m “wife” — I’ve finished that —
That other state —
I’m Czar — I’m “Woman” now —
It’s safer so —

How odd the Girl’s life looks
Behind this soft Eclipse —
I think that Earth feels so
To folks in Heaven — now —

This being comfort — then
That other kind — was pain —
But why compare?
I’m “Wife”! Stop there!

I’ve dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb —
The Veins that used to run
Stop palsied — ’tis Paralysis
Done perfecter on stone

Vitality is Carved and cool.
My nerve in Marble lies —
A Breathing Woman
Yesterday — Endowed with Paradise.

Not dumb — I had a sort that moved —
A Sense that smote and stirred —
Instincts for Dance — a caper part —
An Aptitude for Bird —

Who wrought Carrara in me
And chiselled all

I’ve got an arrow here.
Loving the hand that sent it
I the dart revere.

Fell, they will say, in “skirmish”!
Vanquished, my soul will know
By but a simple arrow
Sped by an archer’s bow.
-Emily Dickinson

I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometimes
In a Cathedral Aisle,
And understood no word it said —
Yet held my breath, the while —

And risen up — and gone away,
A more Berdardine Girl —
Yet — know not what was done to me
In that old Chapel Aisle.
-Emily Dickinson

I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent —
To wrap its shining Yards —
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear —
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail — Or Carpenter —
But just the miles of Stare —
That signalize a Show’s Retreat —
In North America —

No Trace — no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring — no Marvel —
Men, and Feats —
Dissolved as utterly —
As Bird’s far Navigation
Discloses just a

I’ve none to tell me to but Thee
So when Thou failest, nobody.
It was a little tie —
It just held Two, nor those it held
Since Somewhere thy sweet Face has spilled
Beyond my Boundary —

If things were opposite — and Me
And Me it were — that ebbed from Thee
On some unanswering Shore —
Would’st Thou seek so — just say
That I the Answer may pursue
Unto the lips it eddied through —
So —