Emily Dickinson

Sleep is supposed to be
By souls of sanity
The shutting of the eye.

Sleep is the station grand
Down which, on either hand
The hosts of witness stand!

Morn is supposed to be
By people of degree
The breaking of the Day.

Morning has not occurred!

That shall Aurora be —
East of Eternity —
One with the banner gay —
One in the red array —
That is the break of Day!

Smiling back from Coronation
May be Luxury —
On the Heads that started with us —
Being’s Peasantry —

Recognizing in Procession
Ones We former knew —
When Ourselves were also dusty —
Centuries ago —

Had the Triumph no Conviction
Of how many be —
Stimulated — by the Contrast —
Unto Misery —
-Emily Dickinson

Snow beneath whose chilly softness
Some that never lay
Make their first Repose this Winter
I admonish Thee

Blanket Wealthier the Neighbor
We so new bestow
Than thine acclimated Creature
Wilt Thou, Austere Snow?
-Emily Dickinson

Snow flakes.

I counted till they danced so
Their slippers leaped the town,
And then I took a pencil
To note the rebels down.
And then they grew so jolly
I did resign the prig,
And ten of my once stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!
-Emily Dickinson

So I pull my Stockings off
Wading in the Water
For the Disobedience’ Sake
Boy that lived for “or’ter”

Went to Heaven perhaps at Death
And perhaps he didn’t
Moses wasn’t fairly used —
Ananias wasn’t —
-Emily Dickinson

So bashful when I spied her!
So pretty — so ashamed!
So hidden in her leaflets
Lest anybody find —

So breathless till I passed here —
So helpless when I turned
And bore her struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond!

For whom I robbed the Dingle —
For whom I betrayed the Dell —
Many, will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!
-Emily

So from the mould
Scarlet and Gold
Many a Bulb will rise —
Hidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.

So from Cocoon
Many a Worm
Leap so Highland gay,
Peasants like me,
Peasants like Thee
Gaze perplexedly!
-Emily Dickinson

So gay a Flower
Bereaves the Mind
As if it were a Woe —
Is Beauty an Affliction — then?
Tradition ought to know —
-Emily Dickinson

So give me back to Death —
The Death I never feared
Except that it deprived of thee —
And now, by Life deprived,
In my own Grave I breathe
And estimate its size —
Its size is all that Hell can guess —
And all that Heaven was —
-Emily Dickinson

So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
‘Twas sorry, that we were —
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear —
Nor how Ourselves be justified —
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar — An Optizan
Could not decide between —
-Emily Dickinson

So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today —
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away —

Oozed so in crimson bubbles
Day’s departing tide —
Blooming — tripping — flowing
Are ye then with God?
-Emily Dickinson

So large my Will
The little that I may
Embarrasses
Like gentle infamy —

Affront to Him
For whom the Whole were small
Affront to me
Who know His Meed of all.

Earth at the best
Is but a scanty Toy —
Bought, carried Home
To Immortality.

It looks so small
We chiefly wonder then
At our Conceit
In purchasing.
-Emily Dickinson

So much Summer
Me for showing
Illegitimate —
Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
Too exorbitant

To the Lady
With the Guinea
Look — if She should know
Crumb of Mine
A Robin’s Larder
Would suffice to stow —
-Emily Dickinson

So much of Heaven has gone from Earth
That there must be a Heaven
If only to enclose the Saints
To Affidavit given.

The Missionary to the Mole
Must prove there is a Sky
Location doubtless he would plead
But what excuse have I?

Too much of Proof affronts Belief
The Turtle will not try
Unless you leave him — then return
And he has hauled away.

So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed —
So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be
Immediately — that Anguish stooped
Almost to Jealousy —
-Emily Dickinson

So set its Sun in Thee
What Day be dark to me —
What Distance — far —
So I the Ships may see
That touch — how seldomly —
Thy Shore?
-Emily Dickinson

So the Eyes accost — and sunder
In an Audience —
Stamped — occasionally — forever —
So may Countenance

Entertain — without addressing
Countenance of One
In a Neighboring Horizon —
Gone — as soon as known —
-Emily Dickinson

So well that I can live without –
I love thee – then How well is that?
As well as Jesus?
Prove it me
That He – loved Men –
As I – love thee –
-Emily Dickinson

Society for me my misery
Since Gift of Thee –
-Emily Dickinson

Soft as the massacre of Suns
By Evening’s Sabres slain
-Emily Dickinson

Softened by Time’s consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood’s citadel
And undermined the years.

Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood’s realm,
So easy to repair.
-Emily Dickinson

Soil of Flint, if steady tilled —
Will refund by Hand —
Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun
Fructified in Sand —
-Emily Dickinson

Some-Work for Immortality-
The Chiefer part, for Time-
He-Compensates-immediately-
The former-Checks-on Fame-

Slow Gold-but Everlasting-
The Bullion of Today-
Contrasted with the Currency
Of Immortality-

A Beggar-Here and There-
Is gifted to discern
Beyond the Broker’s insight-
One’s-Money-One’s-the Mine-
-Emily Dickinson

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike —
But this slew all but him —
Who so appareled his Escape —
Too trackless for a Tomb —
-Emily Dickinson

Some Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie
The Day that a Companion came
Or was obliged to die
-Emily Dickinson