Emily Dickinson

Shall I take thee, the Poet said
To the propounded word?
Be stationed with the Candidates
Till I have finer tried —

The Poet searched Philology
And when about to ring
For the suspended Candidate
There came unsummoned in —

That portion of the Vision
The Word applied to fill
Not unto nomination
The Cherubim reveal —
-Emily Dickinson

Shame is the shawl of Pink
In which we wrap the Soul
To keep it from infesting Eyes —
The elemental Veil
Which helpless Nature drops
When pushed upon a scene
Repugnant to her probity —
Shame is the tint divine.
-Emily Dickinson

She bore it till the simple veins
Traced azure on her hand —
Til pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.

Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it —
And with the Saints sat down.

No more her patient figure
At twilight soft to meet —
No more her timid bonnet
Upon the village street —

But Crowns instead, and Courtiers —
And in the midst so fair,
Whose but

She could not live upon the Past
The Present did not know her
And so she sought this sweet at last
And nature gently owned her
The mother that has not a knell
for either Duke or Robin
-Emily Dickinson

She dealt her pretty words like Blades —
How glittering they shone —
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone —

She never deemed — she hurt —
That — is not Steel’s Affair —
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh —
How ill the Creatures bear —

To Ache is human — not polite —
The Film upon the eye
Mortality’s old Custom —
Just locking up — to Die.

She died — this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.

Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
-Emily Dickinson

She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.

Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece —
Her countenance as spray.
-Emily Dickinson

She dwelleth in the Ground —
Where Daffodils — abide —
Her Maker — Her Metropolis —
The Universe — Her Maid —

To fetch Her Grace — and Hue —
And Fairness — and Renown —
The Firmament’s — To Pluck Her —
And fetch Her Thee — be mine —
-Emily Dickinson

She hideth Her the last —
And is the first, to rise —
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes —

She doth Her Purple Work —
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod –
As worthily as We.

To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints,
The Julep — of the Bee —

She laid her docile Crescent down
And this confiding Stone
Still states to Dates that have forgot
The News that she is gone —

So constant to its stolid trust,
The Shaft that never knew —
It shames the Constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew —
-Emily Dickinson

She lay as if at play
Her life had leaped away —
Intending to return —
But not so soon —

Her merry Arms, half dropt —
As if for lull of sport —
An instant had forgot —
The Trick to start —

Her dancing Eyes — ajar —
As if their Owner were
Still sparkling through
For fun — at you —

Her Morning at the door —
Devising, I am sure —
To force her sleep —
So light — so

Shells from the Coast mistaking —
I cherished them for All —
Happening in After Ages
To entertain a Pearl —

Wherefore so late — I murmured —
My need of Thee — be done —
Therefore — the Pearl responded —
My Period begin
-Emily Dickinson

She rose as high as His Occasion
Then sought the Dust —
And lower lay in low Westminster
For Her brief Crest —
-Emily Dickinson

She rose to His Requirement — dropt
The Playthings of Her Life
To take the honorable Work
Of Woman, and of Wife —

If ought She missed in Her new Day,
Of Amplitude, or Awe —
Or first Prospective — Or the Gold
In using, wear away,

It lay unmentioned — as the Sea
Develop Pearl, and Weed,
But only to Himself — be known
The Fathoms they abide —

She’s happy, with a new Content —
That feels to her — like Sacrament —
She’s busy — with an altered Care —
As just apprenticed to the Air —

She’s tearful — if she weep at all —
For blissful Causes — Most of all
That Heaven permit so meek as her —
To such a Fate — to Minister.
-Emily

She sights a Bird — she chuckles —
She flattens — then she crawls —
She runs without the look of feet —
Her eyes increase to Balls —

Her Jaws stir — twitching — hungry —
Her Teeth can hardly stand —
She leaps, but Robin leaped the first —
Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,

The Hopes so juicy ripening —
You almost bathed your Tongue —
When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes —
And fled with every one

She slept beneath a tree —
Remembered but by me.
I touched her Cradle mute —
She recognized the foot —
Put on her carmine suit
And see!
-Emily Dickinson

She sped as Petals of a Rose
Offended by the Wind —
A frail Aristocrat of Time
Indemnity to find —
Leaving on nature — a Default
As Cricket or as Bee —
But Andes in the Bosoms where
She had begun to lie —
-Emily Dickinson

She staked her Feathers — Gained an Arc —
Debated — Rose again —
This time — beyond the estimate
Of Envy, or of Men —

And now, among Circumference —
Her steady Boat be seen —
At home — among the Billows — As
The Bough where she was born —
-Emily Dickinson

She sweeps with many-colored Brooms —
And leaves the Shreds behind —
Oh Housewife in the Evening West —
Come back, and dust the Pond!

You dropped a Purple Ravelling in —
You dropped an Amber thread —
And how you’ve littered all the East
With duds of Emerald!

And still, she plies her spotted Brooms,
And still the Aprons fly,
Till Brooms fade softly into stars —
And then I come away —

She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer’s Eve —
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It’s sorer to believe!
-Emily Dickinson

Should you but fail at — Sea —
In sight of me —
Or doomed lie —
Next Sun — to die —
Or rap — at Paradise — unheard
I’d harass God
Until he let you in!
-Emily Dickinson

“Sic transit gloria mundi,”
“How doth the busy bee,”
“Dum vivimus vivamus,”
I stay mine enemy!

Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh “memento mori”
When I am far from thee!

Hurrah for Peter Parley!
Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
Who first observed the moon!

Peter, put up the sunshine;
Patti, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
And call your brother Mars!

Put down the apple, Adam,
And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
From

Silence is all we dread.
There’s Ransom in a Voice —
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.
-Emily Dickinson

Size circumscribes — it has no room
For petty furniture —
The Giant tolerates no Gnat
For Ease of Gianture —

Repudiates it, all the more —
Because intrinsic size
Ignores the possibility
Of Calumnies — or Flies.
-Emily Dickinson