Emily Dickinson

The gleam of an heroic Act
Such strange illumination
The Possible’s slow fuse is lit
By the Imagination.
-Emily Dickinson

The going from a world we know
To one a wonder still
Is like the child’s adversity
Whose vista is a hill,
Behind the hill is sorcery
And everything unknown,
But will the secret compensate
For climbing it alone?
-Emily Dickinson

The good Will of a Flower
The Man who would possess
Must first present
Certificate
Of minted Holiness.
-Emily Dickinson

The Grace — Myself — might not obtain —
Confer upon My flower —
Refracted but a Countenance —
For I — inhabit Her —
-Emily Dickinson

The Grass so little has to do —
A Sphere of simple Green —
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain —

And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along —
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything —

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls —
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing —

And even when it dies — to pass
In Odors

The grave my little cottage is,
Where “Keeping house” for thee
I make my parlor orderly
And lay the marble tea.

For two divided, briefly,
A cycle, it may be,
Till everlasting life unite
In strong society.
-Emily Dickinson

The Guest is gold and crimson —
An Opal guest and gray —
Of Ermine is his doublet —
His Capuchin gay —

He reaches town at nightfall —
He stops at every door —
Who looks for him at morning
I pray him too — explore
The Lark’s pure territory —
Or the Lapwing’s shore!
-Emily Dickinson

The hallowing of Pain
Like hallowing of Heaven,
Obtains at a corporeal cost —
The Summit is not given

To Him who strives severe
At middle of the Hill —
But He who has achieved the Top —
All — is the price of All —
-Emily Dickinson

The harm of Years is on him —
The infamy of Time —
Depose him like a Fashion
And give Dominion room.

Forget his Morning Forces —
The Glory of Decay
Is a minuter Pageant
Than least Vitality.
-Emily Dickinson

The healed Heart shows its shallow scar
With confidential moan —
Not mended by Mortality
Are Fabrics truly torn —
To go its convalescent way
So shameless is to see
More genuine were Perfidy
Than such Fidelity.
-Emily Dickinson

The Heart asks Pleasure — first —
And then — Excuse from Pain —
And then — those little Anodyness
That deaden suffering —

And then — to go to sleep —
And then — if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor
The privilege to die —
-Emily Dickinson

The Heart has many Doors —
I can but knock —
For any sweet “Come in”
Impelled to hark —
Not saddened by repulse,
Repast to me
That somewhere, there exists,
Supremacy —
-Emily Dickinson

The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty — unremitting Bass
And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect
And as itself discerns
Its insufficient Area
The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall
Of unattempted Gauze
An instant’s Push demolishes
A Questioning — dissolves.
-Emily Dickinson

The Heart is the Capital of the Mind —
The Mind is a single State —
The Heart and the Mind together make
A single Continent —

One — is the Population —
Numerous enough —
This ecstatic Nation
Seek — it is Yourself.
-Emily Dickinson

The Heaven vests for Each
In that small Deity
It craved the grace to worship
Some bashful Summer’s Day —

Half shrinking from the Glory
It importuned to see
Till these faint Tabernacles drop
In full Eternity —

How imminent the Venture —
As one should sue a Star —
For His mean sake to leave the Row
And entertain Despair —

A Clemency so common —
We almost cease to fear —
Enabling the minutest —
And furthest — to adore —

The Hills erect their Purple Heads
The Rivers lean to see
Yet Man has not of all the Throng
A Curiosity.
-Emily Dickinson

The Hills in Purple syllables
The Day’s Adventures tell
To little Groups of Continents
Just going Home from School.
-Emily Dickinson

The Himmaleh was known to stoop
Unto the Daisy low —
Transported with Compassion
That such a Doll should grow
Where Tent by Tent — Her Universe
Hung out its Flags of Snow —
-Emily Dickinson

The Hollows round His eager Eyes
Were Pages where to read
Pathetic Histories — although
Himself had not complained.
Biography to All who passed
Of Unobtrusive Pain
Except for the italic Face
Endured, unhelped — unknown.
-Emily Dickinson

The immortality she gave
We borrowed at her Grave –
For just one Plaudit famishing,
The Might of Human love –
-Emily Dickinson

The inundation of the Spring
Enlarges every soul —
It sweeps the tenement away
But leaves the Water whole —

In which the soul at first estranged —
Seeks faintly for its shore
But acclimated — pines no more
For that Peninsula —
-Emily Dickinson

The Jay his Castanet has struck
Put on your muff for Winter
The Tippet that ignores his voice
Is impudent to nature

Of Swarthy Days he is the close
His Lotus is a chestnut
The Cricket drops a sable line
No more from yours at present
-Emily Dickinson