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The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson by Emily Dickinson
798

She staked her Feathers—Gained an Arc—
Debated—Rose again—
This time—beyond the estimate
Of Envy, or of Men—

And now, among Circumference—
Her steady Boat be seen—
At home—among the Billows—As
The Bough where she was born—
219

She sweeps with many-colored Brooms—
And leaves the Shreds behind—
Oh Housewife in the Evening West—
Come back, and dust the Pond!

You dropped a Purple Ravelling in—
You dropped an Amber thread—
And how you’ve littered all the East
With duds of Emerald!

And still, she plies her spotted Brooms,
And still the Aprons fly,
Till Brooms fade softly into stars—
And then I come away—
149

She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer’s Eve—
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It’s sorer to believe!
226

Should you but fail at—Sea—
In sight of me—
Or doomed lie—
Next Sun—to die—
Or rap—at Paradise—unheard
I’d harass God
Until he let you in!
3

“Sic transit gloria mundi,”
  “How doth the busy bee,”
“Dum vivimus vivamus,”
  I stay mine enemy!

Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
  Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh “memento mori”
  When I am far from thee!

Hurrah for Peter Parley!
  Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
  Who first observed the moon!

Peter, put up the sunshine;
  Patti, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
  And call your brother Mars!

Put down the apple, Adam,
  And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
  From off my father’s tree!

I climb the “Hill of Science,”
  I “view the landscape o’er;”
Such transcendental prospect,
  I ne’er beheld before!

Unto the Legislature
  My country bids me go;
I’ll take my india rubbers,
  In case the wind should blow!

During my education,
  It was announced to me
That gravitation, stumbling,
  Fell from an apple tree!

The earth upon an axis
  Was once supposed to turn,
By way of a gymnastic
  In honor of the sun!

It was the brave Columbus,
  A sailing o’er the tide,
Who notified the nations
  Of where I would reside!

Mortality is fatal—
  Gentility is fine,
Rascality, heroic,
  Insolvency, sublime!

Our Fathers being weary,
  Laid down on Bunker Hill;
And tho’ full many a morning,
  Yet they are sleeping still,—

The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
  In dreams I see them rise,
Each with a solemn musket
  A marching to the skies!

A coward will remain, Sir,
  Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
  Will take his hat, and run!

Good bye, Sir, I am going;
  My country calleth me;
Allow me, Sir, at parting,
  To wipe my weeping e’e.

In token of our friendship
  Accept this “Bonnie Doon,”
And when the hand that plucked it
  Hath passed beyond the moon,

The memory of my ashes
  Will consolation be;
Then, farewell, Tuscarora,
  And farewell, Sir, to thee!
1251

Silence is all we dread.
There’s Ransom in a Voice—
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.
641

Size circumscribes—it has no room
For petty furniture—
The Giant tolerates no Gnat
For Ease of Gianture—

Repudiates it, all the more—
Because intrinsic size
Ignores the possibility
Of Calumnies—or Flies.
13

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!
385

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—
942

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?
36

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 ****,
And ten of my once stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!
91

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 ******—
For whom I betrayed the Dell—
Many, will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!
1534

Society for me my misery
Since Gift of Thee—
66

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!
1127

Soft as the massacre of Suns
By Evening’s Sabres slain
1738

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.
1456

So gay a Flower
Bereaves the Mind
As if it were a Woe—
Is Beauty an Affliction—then?
Tradition ought to know—
1632

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—
329

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—
28

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?
681

Soil of Flint, if steady tilled—
Will refund by Hand—
Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun
Fructified in Sand—
1201

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—
1024

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.
1565

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike—
But this slew all but him—
Who so appareled his Escape—
Too trackless for a Tomb—
1157

Some Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie
The Day that a Companion came
Or was obliged to die
1194

Somehow myself survived the Night
And entered with the Day—
That it be saved the Saved suffice
Without the Formula.

Henceforth I take my living place
As one commuted led—
A Candidate for Morning Chance
But dated with the Dead.
324

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church—
I keep it, staying at Home—
With a Bobolink for a Chorister—
And an Orchard, for a Dome—

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice—
I just wear my Wings—
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton—sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman—
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last—
I’m going, all along.
1644

Some one prepared this mighty show
To which without a Ticket go
The nations and the Days—

Displayed before the simplest Door
That all may witness it and more,
The pomp of summer Days.
64

Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere—
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock’s purple Train
Feather by feather—on the plain
Fritters itself away!

The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year’s sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees—march—one by one—
In murmuring platoon!

The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover—Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!

Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?
1739

Some say goodnight—at night—
I say goodnight by day—
Good-bye—the Going utter me—
Goodnight, I still reply—

For parting, that is night,
And presence, simply dawn—
Itself, the purple on the height
Denominated morn.
541

Some such Butterfly be seen
On Brazilian Pampas—
Just at noon—no later—Sweet—
Then—the License closes—

Some such Spice—express and pass—
Subject to Your Plucking—
As the Stars—You knew last Night—
Foreigners—This Morning—
89

Some things that fly there be—
Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee—
Of these no Elegy.

Some things that stay there be—
Grief—Hills—Eternity—
Nor this behooveth me.

There are that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the Riddle lies!
1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.
141

Some, too fragile for winter winds
The thoughtful grave encloses—
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.

Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look,
And sportsman is not bold.

This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold,
Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father—
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.
1221

Some we see no more, Tenements of Wonder
Occupy to us though perhaps to them
Simpler are the Days than the Supposition
Leave us to presume

That oblique Belief which we call Conjecture
Grapples with a Theme stubborn as Sublime
Able as the Dust to equip its feature
Adequate as Drums
To enlist the Tomb.
1041

Somewhat, to hope for,
Be it ne’er so far
Is Capital against Despair—

Somewhat, to suffer,
Be it ne’er so keen—
If terminable, may be borne.
1231

Somewhere upon the general Earth
Itself exist Today—
The Magic passive but extant
That consecrated me—

Indifferent Seasons doubtless play
Where I for right to be—
Would pay each Atom that I am
But Immortality—

Reserving that but just to prove
Another Date of Thee—
Oh God of Width, do not for us
Curtail Eternity!
406

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—
1111

Some Wretched creature, savior take
Who would exult to die
And leave for thy sweet mercy’s sake
Another Hour to me
1228

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.
651

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—
1272

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—
808

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?
752

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—
832

Soto! Explore thyself!
Therein thyself shalt find
The “Undiscovered Continent”—
No Settler had the Mind.
1151

Soul, take thy risk.
With Death to be
Were better than be not
With thee
139

Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost indeed—
But tens have won an all—

Angel’s breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee—
Imps in eager Caucus
Raffle for my Soul!
86

South Winds jostle them—
Bumblebees come—
Hover—hesitate—
Drink, and are gone—

Butterflies pause
On their passage Cashmere—
I—softly plucking,
Present them here!
456

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—
62

“Sown in dishonor”!
Ah! Indeed!
May this “dishonor” be?
If I were half so fine myself
I’d notice nobody!

“Sown in corruption”!
Not so fast!
Apostle is askew!
Corinthians 1. 15. narrates
A Circumstance or two!
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