Emily Dickinson

Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning —
Lightning — lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.

Maimed — was I — yet not by Venture —
Stone of stolid Boy —
Nor a Sportsman’s Peradventure —
Who mine Enemy?

Robbed — was I — intact to Bandit —
All my Mansion torn —
Sun — withdrawn to Recognition —
Furthest shining — done —

Yet was not the foe — of any —
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated — dying —
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!
-Emily Dickinson

Such are the inlets of the mind —
His outlets — would you see
Ascend with me the eminence
Of immortality —
-Emily Dickinson

Such is the Force of Happiness —
The Least — can lift a Ton
Assisted by its stimulus —

Who Misery — sustain —
No Sinew can afford —
The Cargo of Themselves —
Too infinite for Consciousness’
Slow capabilities.
– Emily Dickinson

Summer — we all have seen —
A few of us — believed —
A few — the more aspiring
Unquestionably loved —

But Summer does not care —
She goes her spacious way
As eligible as the moon
To our Temerity —

The Doom to be adored —
The Affluence conferred —
Unknown as to an Ecstasy
The Embryo endowed —
– Emily Dickinson

Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole — are done!

For thee to bloom, I’ll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o’er!
Pray gather me —
Anemone —
Thy flower — forevermore!
-Emily Dickinson

Summer has two Beginnings —
Beginning once in June —
Beginning in October
Affectingly again —

Without, perhaps, the Riot
But graphicker for Grace —
As finer is a going
Than a remaining Face —

Departing then — forever —
Forever — until May —
Forever is deciduous
Except to those who die —
– Emily Dickinson

Summer is shorter than any one —
Life is shorter than Summer —
Seventy Years is spent as quick
As an only Dollar —

Sorrow — now — is polite — and stays —
See how well we spurn him —
Equally to abhor Delight —
Equally retain him —
– Emily Dickinson

Summer laid her simple Hat
On its boundless Shelf —
Unobserved — a Ribbon slipt,
Snatch it for yourself.

Summer laid her supple Glove
In its sylvan Drawer —
Wheresoe’er, or was she —
The demand of Awe?
– Emily Dickinson

Sunset at Night — is natural —
But Sunset on the Dawn
Reverses Nature — Master —
So Midnight’s — due — at Noon.

Eclipses be — predicted —
And Science bows them in —
But do one face us suddenly —
Jehovah’s Watch — is wrong.
– Emily Dickinson

Sunset that screens, reveals —
Enhancing what we see
By menaces of Amethyst
And Moats of Mystery.
– Emily Dickinson

Superfluous were the Sun
When Excellence be dead
He were superfluous every Day
For every Day be said

That syllable whose Faith
Just saves it from Despair
And whose “I’ll meet You” hesitates
If Love inquire “Where”?

Upon His dateless Fame
Our Periods may lie
As Stars that drop anonymous
From an abundant sky.

– Emily Dickinson

Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
‘Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn

A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.
– Emily Dickinson

Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit — Life!
– Emily Dickinson

Surprise is like a thrilling — pungent —
Upon a tasteless meat
Alone — too acrid — but combined
An edible Delight.
– Emily Dickinson

Suspense — is Hostiler than Death —
Death — tho’soever Broad,
Is Just Death, and cannot increase —
Suspense — does not conclude —

But perishes — to live anew —
But just anew to die —
Annihilation — plated fresh
With Immortality —
– Emily Dickinson

Sweet — You forgot — but I remembered
Every time — for Two —
So that the Sum be never hindered
Through Decay of You —

Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings —
Blame the little Hand
Happy it be for You — a Beggar’s —
Seeking More — to spend —

Just to be Rich — to waste my Guineas
On so Best a Heart —
Just to be Poor — for Barefoot Vision
You — Sweet —

Sweet Pirate of the heart,
Not Pirate of the Sea,
What wrecketh thee?
Some spice’s Mutiny —
Some Attar’s perfidy?
Confide in me.
– Emily Dickinson

Sweet hours have perished here;
This is a mighty room;
Within its precincts hopes have played, —
Now shadows in the tomb.
– Emily Dickinson

Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,
Until we meet a snake;
‘Tis then we sigh for houses,
And our departure take

At that enthralling gallop
That only childhood knows.
A snake is summer’s treason,
And guile is where it goes.
– Emily Dickinson

Sweet, to have had them lost
For news that they be saved —
The nearer they departed Us
The nearer they, restored,

Shall stand to Our Right Hand —
Most precious and the Dead —
Next precious
Those that rose to go —
Then thought of Us, and stayed.
-Emily Dickinson