Emily Dickinson

A World made penniless by that departure
Of minor fabrics begs
But sustenance is of the spirit
The Gods but Dregs
-Emily Dickinson

A Wounded Deer — leaps highest —
I’ve heard the Hunter tell —
‘Tis but the Ecstasy of death —
And then the Brake is still!

The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And “you’re hurt” exclaim!
-Emily Dickinson

Above Oblivion’s Tide there is a Pier
And an effaceless “Few” are lifted there –
Nay — lift themselves — Fame has no Arms –
And but one smile — that meagres Balms –
-Emily Dickinson

Abraham to kill him —
Was distinctly told —
Isaac was an Urchin —
Abraham was old —

Not a hesitation —
Abraham complied —
Flattered by Obeisance
Tyranny demurred —

Isaac — to his children
Lived to tell the tale —
Moral — with a Mastiff
Manners may prevail.
-Emily Dickinson

Absence disembodies — so does Death
Hiding individuals from the Earth
Superposition helps, as well as love —
Tenderness decreases as we prove –
-Emily Dickinson

Absent Place — an April Day —
Daffodils a-blow
Homesick curiosity
To the Souls that snow –

Drift may block within it
Deeper than without —
Daffodil delight but
Him it duplicate –
-Emily Dickinson

Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?

So Sailors say — on yesterday —
Just as the dusk was brown
One little boat gave up its strife
And gurgled down and down.

So angels say — on yesterday —
Just as the dawn was red
One little boat — o’erspent with gales —
Retrimmed its masts — redecked its sails —
And shot — exultant on!
-Emily Dickinson

Advance is Life’s condition
The Grave but a Relay
Supposed to be a terminus
That makes it hated so –

The Tunnel is not lighted
Existence with a wall
Is better we consider
Than not exist at all –
-Emily Dickinson

Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
Not Death — for who is He?
The Porter of my Father’s Lodge
As much abasheth me!

Of Life? ‘Twere odd I fear [a] thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or two existences –
As Deity decree —

Of Resurrection? Is the East
Afraid to trust the Morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my Crown!
-Emily Dickinson

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the Place
Agony that enacted there
Motionless as Peace

Weeds triumphant ranged
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone Orthography
Of the Elder Dead

Winds of Summer Fields
Recollect the way –
Instinct picking up the Key
Dropped by memory –
-Emily Dickinson

After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside —
Nature imparts the little Blue-Bird — assured
Her conscientious Voice will soar unmoved
Above ostensible Vicissitude.

First at the March — competing with the Wind —
Her panting note exalts us — like a friend —
Last to adhere when Summer cleaves away —
Elegy of Integrity.
-Emily Dickinson

After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs —
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round —
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone —

This is the Hour of Lead —
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow —
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting

After the Sun comes out
How it alters the World —
Waggons like messengers hurry about
Yesterday is old –

All men meet as if
Each foreclosed a news —
Fresh as a Cargo from Batize
Nature’s qualities –
-Emily Dickinson

Again — his voice is at the door —
I feel the old Degree —
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one — as me —

I take a flower — as I go —
My face to justify —
He never saw me — in this life —
I might surprise his eye!

I cross the Hall with mingled steps —
I — silent — pass the door —
I look on all this world

Ah, Moon — and Star!
You are very far –
But were no one
Farther than you –
Do you think I’d stop
For a Firmament –
Or a Cubit — or so?

I could borrow a Bonnet
Of the Lark —
And a Chamois’ Silver Boot –
And a stirrup of an Antelope –
And be with you — Tonight!

But, Moon, and Star,
Though you’re very far —
There is one — farther than you —
He — is more than a

Ah, Necromancy Sweet!
Ah, Wizard erudite!
Teach me the skill,

That I instil the pain
Surgeons assuage in vain,
Nor Herb of all the plain
Can Heal!
-Emily Dickinson

Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages — pause for you —
Sunset — reviews her Sapphire Regiment –
Day — drops you her Red Adieu!

Still — Clad in your Mail of ices –
Thigh of Granite — and thew — of Steel —
Heedless — alike — of pomp — or parting

Ah, Teneriffe!
I’m kneeling — still –
-Emily Dickinson

Air has no Residence, no Neighbor,
No Ear, no Door,
No Apprehension of Another
Oh, Happy Air!

Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast’s Pillow —
Essential Host, in Life’s faint, wailing Inn,
Later than Light thy Consciousness accost me
Till it depart, persuading Mine –
-Emily Dickinson

All I may, if small,
Do it not display
Larger for the Totalness —
‘Tis Economy

To bestow a World
And withhold a Star —
Utmost, is Munificence —
Less, tho’ larger, poor.
-Emily Dickinson

All but Death, can be Adjusted —
Dynasties repaired —
Systems — settled in their Sockets —
Citadels — dissolved —

Wastes of Lives — resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs —
Death — unto itself — Exception —
Is exempt from Change –
-Emily Dickinson

All Circumstances are the Frame
In which His Face is set —
All Latitudes exist for His
Sufficient Continent —

The Light His Action, and the Dark
The Leisure of His Will —
In Him Existence serve or set
A Force illegible.
-Emily Dickinson

All forgot for recollecting
Just a paltry One —
All forsook, for just a Stranger’s
New Accompanying —

Grace of Wealth, and Grace of Station
Less accounted than
An unknown Esteem possessing —
Estimate — Who can —

Home effaced — Her faces dwindled —
Nature — altered small —
Sun — if shone — or Storm — if shattered —
Overlooked I all —

Dropped — my fate — a timid Pebble —
In thy bolder Sea —
Prove — me —

All men for Honor hardest work
But are not known to earn —
Paid after they have ceased to work
In Infamy or Urn –
-Emily Dickinson

All overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of “Currer Bell”
In quiet “Haworth” laid.

Gathered from many wanderings —
Gethsemane can tell
Thro’ what transporting anguish
She reached the Asphodel!

Soft falls the sounds of Eden
Upon her puzzled ear —
Oh what an afternoon for Heaven,
When “Bronte” entered there!
-Emily Dickinson

All that I do
Is in review
To his enamored mind
I know his eye
Where e’er I ply
Is pushing close behind
Not any Port
Nor any flight
But he doth there preside
What omnipresence lies in wait
For her to be a Bride
-Emily Dickinson