Emily Dickinson

Its little Ether Hood
Doth sit upon its Head —
The millinery supple
Of the sagacious God —

Till when it slip away
A nothing at a time —
And Dandelion’s Drama
Expires in a stem.

-Emily Dickinson

It sounded as if the Streets were running
And then — the Streets stood still —
Eclipse — was all we could see at the Window
And Awe — was all we could feel.

By and by — the boldest stole out of his Covert
To see if Time was there —
Nature was in an Opal Apron,
Mixing fresher Air.

It’s such a little thing to weep —
So short a thing to sigh —
And yet — by Trades — the size of these
We men and women die!
-Emily Dickinson

It’s thoughts — and just One Heart —
And Old Sunshine — about —
Make frugal — Ones — Content —
And two or three — for Company —
Upon a Holiday —
Crowded — as Sacrament —

Books — when the Unit —
Spare the Tenant — long eno’ —
A Picture — if it Care —
Itself — a Gallery too rare —
For needing more —

Flowers — to keep the Eyes — from going awkward —
When

It stole along so stealthy
Suspicion it was done
Was dim as to the wealthy
Beginning not to own –
-Emily Dickinson

It struck me — every Day —
The Lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through —

It burned Me — in the Night —
It Blistered to My Dream —
It sickened fresh upon my sight —
With every Morn that came —

I though that Storm — was brief —
The Maddest — quickest by —
But Nature lost the Date of This —
And left it in the Sky

It tossed — and tossed —
A little Brig I knew — o’ertook by Blast —
It spun — and spun —
And groped delirious, for Morn —

It slipped — and slipped —
As One that drunken — stept —
Its white foot tripped —
Then dropped from sight —

Ah, Brig — Good Night
To Crew and You —
The Ocean’s Heart too smooth — too Blue —
To break for You —

It troubled me as once I was —
For I was once a Child —
Concluding how an Atom — fell —
And yet the Heavens — held —

The Heavens weighed the most — by far —
Yet Blue — and solid — stood —
Without a Bolt — that I could prove —
Would Giants — understand?

Life set me larger — problems —
Some I shall keep — to solve
Till Algebra is easier —
Or

It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
Enclosed ’twas not of Rail
A Consciousness its Acre, and
It held a Human Soul.

Entombed by whom, for what offence
If Home or Foreign born —
Had I the curiosity
‘Twere not appeased of men

Till Resurrection, I must guess
Denied the small desire
A Rose upon its Ridge to sow
Or take away a Briar.

It was a quiet seeming Day —
There was no harm in earth or sky —
Till with the closing sun
There strayed an accidental Red
A Strolling Hue, one would have said
To westward of the Town —

But when the Earth began to jar
And Houses vanished with a roar
And Human Nature hid
We comprehended by the Awe
As those that Dissolution saw
The Poppy in the Cloud

It was a quiet way —
He asked if I was his —
I made no answer of the Tongue
But answer of the Eyes —
And then He bore me on
Before this mortal noise
With swiftness, as of Chariots
And distance, as of Wheels.
This World did drop away
As Acres from the feet
Of one that leaneth from Balloon
Upon an Ether street.
The Gulf behind was not,
The Continents were new —
Eternity it was before
Eternity was due.
No Seasons

It was given to me by the Gods —
When I was a little Girl —
They given us Presents most — you know —
When we are new — and small.
I kept it in my Hand —
I never put it down —
I did not dare to eat — or sleep —
For fear it would be gone —
I heard such words as “Rich” —
When hurrying to school —
From lips at Corners of

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down —
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos — crawl —
Nor Fire — for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool —

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine —

As if my

It was not Saint — it was too large —
Nor Snow — it was too small —
It only held itself aloof
Like something spiritual —
-Emily Dickinson

It was too late for Man —
But early, yet, for God —
Creation — impotent to help —
But Prayer — remained — Our Side —

How excellent the Heaven —
When Earth — cannot be had —
How hospitable — then — the face
Of our Old Neighbor — God —
-Emily Dickinson

It will be Summer — eventually.
Ladies — with parasols —
Sauntering Gentlemen — with Canes —
And little Girls — with Dolls —

Will tint the pallid landscape —
As ’twere a bright Bouquet —
Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian —
The Village lies — today —

The Lilacs — bending many a year —
Will sway with purple load —
The Bees — will not despise the tune —
Their Forefathers — have hummed —

The Wild Rose —

It would have starved a Gnat —
To live so small as I —
And yet I was a living Child —
With Food’s necessity

Upon me — like a Claw —
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away —
Or make a Dragon — move —

Not like the Gnat — had I —
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself —
How mightier He — than I —

Nor like Himself

It would never be Common — more — I said —
Difference — had begun —
Many a bitterness — had been —
But that old sort — was done —

Or — if it sometime — showed — as ’twill —
Upon the Downiest — Morn —
Such bliss — had I — for all the years —
‘Twould give an Easier — pain —

I’d so much joy — I told it — Red —
Upon

It would not know if it were spurned,
This gallant little flower —
How therefore safe to be a flower
If one would tamper there.

To enter, it would not aspire —
But may it not despair
That it is not a Cavalier,
To dare and perish there?
-Emily Dickinson

Jesus! thy Crucifix
Enable thee to guess
The smaller size!

Jesus! thy second face
Mind thee in Paradise
Of ours!
-Emily Dickinson

Joy to have merited the Pain —
To merit the Release —
Joy to have perished every step —
To Compass Paradise —

Pardon — to look upon thy face —
With these old fashioned Eyes —
Better than new — could be — for that —
Though bought in Paradise —

Because they looked on thee before —
And thou hast looked on them —
Prove Me — My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same —

So fleet thou

Judgment is justest
When the Judged,
His action laid away,
Divested is of every Disk
But his sincerity.

Honor is then the safest hue
In a posthumous Sun –
Not any color will endure
That scrutiny can burn.
-Emily Dickinson

Just as He spoke it from his Hands
This Edifice remain —
A Turret more, a Turret less
Dishonor his Design —

According as his skill prefer
It perish, or endure —
Content, soe’er, it ornament
His absent character.
-Emily Dickinson

Just lost, when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!

Therefore, as One returned, I feel
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some Sailor, skirting foreign shores —
Some pale Reporter, from the awful doors
Before the Seal!

Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see
By Ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by Eye —

Next time, to

Just Once! Oh least Request!
Could Adamant refuse
So small a Grace
So scanty put,
Such agonizing terms?
Would not a God of Flint
Be conscious of a sigh
As down His Heaven dropt remote
“Just Once” Sweet Deity?
-Emily Dickinson