Emily Dickinson

A soft Sea washed around the House
A Sea of Summer Air
And rose and fell the magic Planks
That sailed without a care –
For Captain was the Butterfly
For Helmsman was the Bee
And an entire universe
For the delighted crew.
-Emily Dickinson

A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer’s noon —
A depth — an Azure — a perfume —
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see —

Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me —

The wizard fingers never rest —
The purple brook within the breast
Still

A South Wind — has a pathos
Of individual Voice —
As One detect on Landings
An Emigrant’s address.

A Hint of Ports and Peoples —
And much not understood —
The fairer — for the farness —
And for the foreignhood.
-Emily Dickinson

A Sparrow took a Slice of Twig
And thought it very nice
I think, because his empty Plate
Was handed Nature twice –

Invigorated, waded
In all the deepest Sky
Until his little Figure
Was forfeited away –
-Emily Dickinson

A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White.

If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.

Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.
-Emily Dickinson

A stagnant pleasure like a Pool
That lets its Rushes grow
Until they heedless tumble in
And make the Water slow

Impeding navigation bright
Of Shadows going down
Yet even this shall rouse itself
When freshets come along.
-Emily Dickinson

A still — Volcano — Life –
That flickered in the night –
When it was dark enough to do
Without erasing sight –

A quiet — Earthquake Style –
Too subtle to suspect
By natures this side Naples –
The North cannot detect

The Solemn — Torrid — Symbol –
The lips that never lie —
Whose hissing Corals part — and shut –
And Cities — ooze away –
-Emily Dickinson

A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish — some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went — nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere — in my Soul — I know –
I’ve met the Thing before –
It just reminded me —

A throe upon the features –
A hurry in the breath –
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated “Death” –

An anguish at the mention
Which when to patience grown,
I’ve known permission given
To rejoin its own.
-Emily Dickinson

A Toad, can die of Light –
Death is the Common Right
Of Toads and Men –
Of Earl and Midge
The privilege –
Why swagger, then?
The Gnat’s supremacy is large as Thine –

Life — is a different Thing –
So measure Wine —
Naked of Flask — Naked of Cask –
Bare Rhine —
Which Ruby’s mine?
-Emily Dickinson

A Tongue — to tell Him I am true!
Its fee — to be of Gold —
Had Nature — in Her monstrous House
A single Ragged Child –

To earn a Mine — would run
That Interdicted Way,
And tell Him — Charge thee speak it plain –
That so far — Truth is True?

And answer What I do —
Beginning with the Day
That Night — begun —
Nay — Midnight — ’twas —
Since Midnight — happened

A Tooth upon Our Peace
The Peace cannot deface —
Then Wherefore be the Tooth?
To vitalize the Grace —

The Heaven hath a Hell —
Itself to signalize —
And every sign before the Place
Is Gilt with Sacrifice –
-Emily Dickinson

A train went through a burial gate,
A bird broke forth and sang,
And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat
Till all the churchyard rang;

And then adjusted his little notes,
And bowed and sang again.
Doubtless, he thought it meet of him
To say good-by to men.
-Emily Dickinson

A transport one cannot contain
May yet a transport be —
Though God forbid it lift the lid —
Unto its Ecstasy!

A Diagram — of Rapture!
A sixpence at a Show —
With Holy Ghosts in Cages!
The Universe would go!
-Emily Dickinson

A Visitor in Marl –
Who influences Flowers —
Till they are orderly as Busts —
And Elegant — as Glass —

Who visits in the Night —
And just before the Sun —
Concludes his glistening interview —
Caresses — and is gone —

But whom his fingers touched —
And where his feet have run —
And whatsoever Mouth be kissed —
Is as it had not been –
-Emily Dickinson

A Weight with Needles on the pounds —
To push, and pierce, besides —
That if the Flesh resist the Heft —
The puncture — coolly tries —

That not a pore be overlooked
Of all this Compound Frame —
As manifold for Anguish —
As Species — be — for name –
-Emily Dickinson

A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds
That threatened it – did run
And crouched behind his Yellow Door
Was the defiant sun –
Some conflict with those upper friends
So genial in the main
That we deplore peculiarly
Their arrogant campaign –
-Emily Dickinson

A Wind that rose
Though not a Leaf
In any Forest stirred
But with itself did cold engage
Beyond the Realm of Bird —
A Wind that woke a lone Delight
Like Separation’s Swell
Restored in Arctic Confidence
To the Invisible –
-Emily Dickinson

A winged spark doth soar about —
I never met it near
For Lightning it is oft mistook
When nights are hot and sere —

Its twinkling Travels it pursues
Above the Haunts of men —
A speck of Rapture — first perceived
By feeling it is gone —
Rekindled by some action quaint
-Emily Dickinson

A Word dropped careless on a Page
May stimulate an eye
When folded in perpetual seam
The Wrinkled Maker lie

Infection in the sentence breeds
We may inhale Despair
At distances of Centuries
From the Malaria –
-Emily Dickinson

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
-Emily Dickinson