Emily Dickinson

The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea —
Forgets her own locality —
As I — toward Thee —

She knows herself an incense small —
Yet small — she sighs — if All — is All —
How larger — be?

The Ocean — smiles — at her Conceit —
But she, forgetting Amphitrite —
Pleads — “Me”?
-Emily Dickinson

The Dust behind I strove to join
Unto the Disk before —
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound
Like Balls upon a Floor —
-Emily Dickinson

The duties of the Wind are few,
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.

The pleasures of the Wind are broad,
To dwell Extent among,
Remain, or wander,
Speculate, or Forests entertain.

The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks
Azof — the Equinox,
Also with Bird and Asteroid
A bowing intercourse.

The limitations of the Wind
Do he exist, or die,
Too wise he seems for Wakelessness,
However, know not i.

The Dying need but little, Dear,
A Glass of Water’s all,
A Flower’s unobtrusive Face
To punctuate the Wall,

A Fan, perhaps, a Friend’s Regret
And Certainty that one
No color in the Rainbow
Perceive, when you are gone.
-Emily Dickinson

The earth has many keys,
Where melody is not
Is the unknown peninsula.
Beauty is nature’s fact.

But witness for her land,
And witness for her sea,
The cricket is her utmost
Of elegy to me.
-Emily Dickinson

The ecstasy to guess
Were a receipted bliss
If grace could talk.
-Emily Dickinson

The event was directly behind Him
Yet He did not guess
Fitted itself to Himself like a Robe
Relished His ignorance.
Motioned itself to drill
Loaded and Levelled
And let His Flesh
Centuries from His soul.
– Emily Dickinson

The Face in evanescence lain
Is more distinct than ours —
And ours surrendered for its sake
As Capsules are for Flower’s —
Or is it the confiding sheen
Dissenting to enamor us
Of Detriment divine?
– Emily Dickinson

The Face we choose to miss —
Be it but for a Day
As absent as a Hundred Years,
When it has rode away.
– Emily Dickinson

The Fact that Earth is Heaven —
Whether Heaven is Heaven or not
If not an Affidavit
Of that specific Spot
Not only must confirm us
That it is not for us
But that it would affront us
To dwell in such a place —
– Emily Dickinson

The fairest Home I ever knew
Was founded in an Hour
By Parties also that I knew
A spider and a Flower —
A manse of mechlin and of Floes —
– Emily Dickinson

The fascinating chill that music leaves
Is Earth’s corroboration
Of Ecstasy’s impediment —
‘Tis Rapture’s germination
In timid and tumultuous soil
A fine — estranging creature —
To something upper wooing us
But not to our Creator —
– Emily Dickinson

The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go —
The Crocus — til she rises
The Vassal of the snow —
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Til bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.

Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea —
Pinions — the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once — as we —
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny — legacy —
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.

My figures fail to tell

The Fingers of the Light
Tapped soft upon the Town
With “I am great and cannot wait
So therefore let me in.”

“You’re soon,” the Town replied,
“My Faces are asleep —
But swear, and I will let you by,
You will not wake them up.”

The easy Guest complied
But once within the Town
The transport of His Countenance
Awakened Maid and Man

The Neighbor in the Pool
Upon His Hip elate
Made loud obeisance and the Gnat
Held up His Cup for

The first Day’s Night had come —
And grateful that a thing
So terrible — had been endured —
I told my Soul to sing —

She said her Strings were snapt —
Her Bow — to Atoms blown —
And so to mend her — gave me work
Until another Morn —

And then — a Day as huge
As Yesterdays in pairs,
Unrolled its horror in my face —
Until it blocked my eyes —

My Brain —

The first We knew of Him was Death —
The second — was — Renown —
Except the first had justified
The second had not been.
– Emily Dickinson

The Flake the Wind exasperate
More eloquently lie
Than if escorted to its Down
By Arm of Chivalry.
– Emily Dickinson

The Flower must not blame the Bee —
That seeketh his felicity
Too often at her door —

But teach the Footman from Vevay —
Mistress is “not at home” — to say —
To people — any more!
– Emily Dickinson

The Frost of Death was on the Pane —
“Secure your Flower” said he.
Like Sailors fighting with a Leak
We fought Mortality.

Our passive Flower we held to Sea —
To Mountain — To the Sun —
Yet even on his Scarlet shelf
To crawl the Frost begun —

We pried him back
Ourselves we wedged
Himself and her between,
Yet easy as the narrow Snake
He forked his way along

Till all her helpless beauty bent
And then our wrath begun

The Future — never spoke —
Nor will He — like the Dumb —
Reveal by sign — a syllable
Of His Profound To Come —

But when the News be ripe —
Presents it — in the Act —
Forestalling Preparation —
Escape — or Substitute —

Indifference to Him —
The Dower — as the Doom —
His Office — but to execute
Fate’s — Telegram — to Him —
– Emily Dickinson