Emily Dickinson

At leisure is the Soul
That gets a Staggering Blow —
The Width of Life — before it spreads
Without a thing to do —

It begs you give it Work —
But just the placing Pins —
Or humblest Patchwork — Children do —
To Help its Vacant Hands –
-Emily Dickinson

Aurora is the effort
Of the Celestial Face
Unconsciousness of Perfectness
To simulate, to Us.
-Emily Dickinson

Autumn — overlooked my Knitting —
Dyes — said He — have I —
Could disparage a Flamingo —
Show Me them — said I —

Cochineal — I chose — for deeming
It resemble Thee —
And the little Border — Dusker —
For resembling Me –
-Emily Dickinson

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam,

Away from Home are some and I —
An Emigrant to be
In a Metropolis of Homes
Is easy, possibly —

The Habit of a Foreign Sky
We — difficult — acquire
As Children, who remain in Face
The more their Feet retire.
-Emily Dickinson

Back from the cordial Grave I drag thee
He shall not take thy Hand
Nor put his spacious arm around thee
That none can understand
-Emily Dickinson

Baffled for just a day or two —
Embarrassed — not afraid —
Encounter in my garden
An unexpected Maid.

She beckons, and the woods start —
She nods, and all begin —
Surely, such a country
I was never in!
-Emily Dickinson

Banish Air from Air —
Divide Light if you dare —
They’ll meet
While Cubes in a Drop
Or Pellets of Shape
Fit
Films cannot annul
Odors return whole
Force Flame
And with a Blonde push
Over your impotence
Flits Steam.
-Emily Dickinson

Be Mine the Doom –
Sufficient Fame –
To perish in Her Hand!
-Emily Dickinson

Beauty — be not caused — It Is —
Chase it, and it ceases —
Chase it not, and it abides —

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow — when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro’ it —
Deity will see to it
That You never do it –
-Emily Dickinson

Beauty crowds me till I die
Beauty mercy have on me
But if I expire today
Let it be in sight of thee –
-Emily Dickinson

Because He loves Her
We will pry and see if she is fair
What difference is on her Face
From Features others wear.

It will not harm her magic pace
That we so far behind –
Her Distances propitiate
As Forests touch the Wind

Not hoping for his notice vast
But nearer to adore
‘Tis Glory’s far sufficiency
That makes our trying poor.
-Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my gown
My tippet only

Because my Brook is fluent
I know ’tis dry —
Because my Brook is silent
It is the Sea —

And startled at its rising
I try to flee
To where the Strong assure me
Is “no more Sea” –
-Emily Dickinson

Because that you are going
And never coming back
And I, however absolute,
May overlook your Track –

Because that Death is final,
However first it be,
This instant be suspended
Above Mortality –

Significance that each has lived
The other to detect
Discovery not God himself
Could now annihilate

Eternity, Presumption
The instant I perceive
That you, who were Existence
Yourself forgot to live –

The “Life that is” will then have been
A thing I never knew –
As Paradise fictitious
Until the Realm of you

Because the Bee may blameless hum
For Thee a Bee do I become
List even unto Me.

Because the Flowers unafraid
May lift a look on thine, a Maid
Alway a Flower would be.

Nor Robins, Robins need not hide
When Thou upon their Crypts intrude
So Wings bestow on Me
Or Petals, or a Dower of Buzz
That Bee to ride, or Flower of Furze
I that way worship Thee.

Because ’twas Riches I could own,
Myself had earned it — Me,
I knew the Dollars by their names —
It feels like Poverty

An Earldom out of sight to hold,
An Income in the Air,
Possession — has a sweeter chink
Unto a Miser’s Ear –
-Emily Dickinson

Bee! I’m expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due —

The Frogs got Home last Week —
Are settled, and at work —
Birds, mostly back —
The Clover warm and thick —

You’ll get my Letter by
The seventeenth; Reply
Or better, be with me —
Yours, Fly.
-Emily Dickinson

Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles —
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.

Fuzz ordained — not Fuzz contingent —
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs — a Universe’s fracture
Could not jar or spill.
-Emily Dickinson

Before He comes we weigh the Time!
‘Tis Heavy and ’tis Light.
When He depart, an Emptiness
Is the prevailing Freight.
-Emily Dickinson

Before I got my eye put out
I liked as well to see —
As other Creatures, that have Eyes
And know no other way —

But were it told to me — Today —
That I might have the sky
For mine — I tell you that my Heart
Would split, for size of me —

The Meadows — mine —
The Mountains — mine —
All Forests — Stintless Stars —
As much of Noon as I

Before the ice is in the pools —
Before the skaters go,
Or any check at nightfall
Is tarnished by the snow —

Before the fields have finished,
Before the Christmas tree,
Wonder upon wonder
Will arrive to me!

What we touch the hems of
On a summer’s day —
What is only walking
Just a bridge away —

That which sings so — speaks so —
When there’s no one here —
Will the frock I wept in
Answer me to wear?

Behind Me — dips Eternity —
Before Me — Immortality —
Myself — the Term between —
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin —

‘Tis Kingdoms — afterward — they say —
In perfect — pauseless Monarchy —
Whose Prince — is Son of None —
Himself — His Dateless Dynasty —
Himself — Himself diversify —
In Duplicate divine —

‘Tis Miracle before Me — then —
‘Tis Miracle behind —

Behold this little Bane —
The Boon of all alive —
As common as it is unknown
The name of it is Love —

To lack of it is Woe —
To own of it is Wound —
Not elsewhere — if in Paradise
Its Tantamount be found —
-Emily Dickinson