480

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

I ENVY seas whereon he rides,
  I envy spokes of wheels
Of chariots that him convey,
  I envy speechless hills
  
That gaze upon his journey;       
  How easy all can see
What is forbidden utterly
  As heaven, unto me!
  
I envy nests of sparrows
  That dot his distant eaves,         
The wealthy fly upon his pane,
  The happy, happy leaves
  
That just abroad his window
  Have summer’s leave to be,
The earrings of Pizarro         
  Could not obtain for me.
  
I envy light that wakes him,
  And bells that boldly ring
To tell him it is noon abroad,—
  Myself his noon could bring,         
  
Yet interdict my blossom
  And abrogate my bee,
Lest noon in everlasting night
  Drop Gabriel and me.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Three: Love

XLVII

HEART, we will forget him!
  You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
  I will forget the light.
  
When you have done, pray tell me,         
  That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you’re lagging,
  I may remember him!

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Three: Love

XLVI

HE fumbles at your spirit
  As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
  He stuns you by degrees,
  
Prepares your brittle substance         
  For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
  Then nearer, then so slow
  
Your breath has time to straighten,
  Your brain to bubble cool,—         
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
  That scalps your naked soul.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Three: Love

XLV

I ’VE got an arrow here;
  Loving the hand that sent it,
I the dart revere.
  
Fell, they will say, in “skirmish”!
  Vanquished, my soul will know,         
By but a simple arrow
  Sped by an archer’s bow.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part Three: Love

XLII

TO lose thee, sweeter than to gain
  All other hearts I knew.
’T is true the drought is destitute,
  But then I had the dew!
  
The Caspian has its realms of sand,         
  Its other realm of sea;
Without the sterile perquisite
  No Caspian could be.