These are the days when Birds come back [cc]

THESE are the days when Birds come back--

A very few--a Bird or two--

To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume

The old--old sophistries of June--

A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee--

Almost thy plausibility

Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear--

And softly thro' the altered air

Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,

Oh Last Communion in the Haze--

Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake--

Thy consecrated bread to take

And thine immortal wine!

Emily Dickinson (1864) first published as October

Success is counted sweetest [cc]

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 (1864) published later(1878) as Success

My life closed twice before its close [cc]

MY life closed twice before its close--

It yet remains to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

Emily Dickinson (1880's-)

I like to see it lap the miles

I LIKE to see it lap the miles,

And lick the valleys up,

And stop to feed itself at tanks;

And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,

And, supercilious, peer

In shanties by the sides of roads;

And then a quarry pare

To fit its ribs,

And crawl between,

Complaining all the while

In horrid, hooting stanza;

Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;

Then, punctual as a star,

Stop--docile and omnipotent--

At its own stable door.

Emily Dickinson

Of Bronze and Blaze [cc]

OF Bronze--and Blaze--

The North--Tonight--

So adequate--it forms--

So preconcerted with itself--

So distant--it alarms--

An Unconcern so sovereign

To Universe, or me--

Infects my simple spirit

With Taints of Majesty--

Till I take vaster attitudes--

And strut upon my stem--

Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,

For Arrogance of them--

My Splendors, are Menagerie--

But their Competeless Show

Will entertain the Centuries

When I, am long ago,

An Island in dishonored Grass--

Whom none but Beetles--know.

Emily Dickinson (1861)

Of all the Sounds despatched abroad

OF all the Sounds despatched abroad,

There's not a Charge to me

Like that old measure in the Boughs-

That phraseless Melody--

The Wind does--working like a Hand,

Whose fingers Comb the Sky--

Then quiver down--with tufts of Tune--

Permitted Gods, and me--

Inheritance, it is, to us--

Beyond the Art to Earn--

Beyond the trait to take away

By Robber, since the Gain

Is gotten not of fingers--

And inner than the Bone--

Hid golden, for the whole of Days,

And even in the Urn,

I cannot vouch the merry Dust

Do not arise and play

In some odd fashion of its own,

Some quainter Holiday,

When Winds go round and round in Bands--

And thrum upon the door,

And Birds take places, overhead,

To bear them Orchestra.

I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,

If such an Outcast be--

Who never heard that fleshless Chant--

Rise--solemn--on the Tree,

As if some Caravan of Sound

Off Deserts, in the Sky,

Had parted Rank, Then knit, and swept--

In Seamless Company--

Emily Dickinson

I cannot dance upon my Toes

I CANNOT dance upon my Toes--

No Man instructed me--

But oftentimes, among my mind,

A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge--

Would put itself abroad

In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe--

Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze--

No Ringlet, to my Hair,

Nor hopped to Audiences--like Birds,

One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,

Nor rolled on wheels of snow

Till I was out of sight, in sound,

The House encore me so--

Nor any know I know the Art

I mention--easy--Here--

Nor any Placard boast me--

It's full as Opera--

Emily Dickinson

First Robin [cc]

I DREADED that first Robin, so,

But He is mastered, now,

I'm some accustomed to Him grown,

He hurts a little, though-

I thought if I could only live

Till that first Shout got by--

Not all Pianos in the Woods

Had power to mangle me--

I dared not meet the Daffodils--

For fear their Yellow Gown

Would pierce me with a fashion

So foreign to my own--

I wished the Grass would hurry--

So--when 'twas time to see--

He'd be too tall, the tallest one

Could stretch--to look at me--

I could not bear the Bees should come,

I wished they'd stay away

In those dim countries where they go,

What word had they, for me?

They're here, though; not a creature failed--

No Blossom stayed away

In gentle deference to me--

The Queen of Calvary--

Each one salutes me, as he goes,

And I, my childish Plumes,

Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment

Of their unthinking Drums--

Emily Dickinson (1862)

This is my letter to the World [cc]

THIS is my letter to the World

That never wrote to Me--

The simple News that Nature told--

With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed

To Hands I cannot see--

For love of Her--Sweet-countrymen-

Judge tenderly--of Me

Emily Dickinson (1862)

The Soul selects [cc]

THE Soul selects her own Society--

Then--shuts the Door--

To her divine Majority--

Present no more--

Unmoved--she notes the Chariots--pausing--

At her low Gate--

Unmoved--an Emperor be kneeling

Upon her mat--

I've known her--from an ample nation--

Choose One--

Then--close the Valves of her attention--

Like Stone--

Emily Dickinson (1862)

After great pain, a formal feeling comes [cc]

AFTER great pain, a formal feeling comes--

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs--

The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,

And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round--

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--

A Wooden way

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone--

This is the Hour of Lead--

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons recollect the Snow--

First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--

Emily Dickinson (1862)

The sky is low

THE sky is low, the clouds are mean,

A travelling flake of snow

Across a barn or through a rut

Debates if it will go.

A narrow wind complains all day

How some one treated him;

Nature, like us, is sometimes caught

Without her diadem.

Emily Dickinson

It dropped so low in my regard

IT dropped so low in my regard

I heard it hit the ground,

And go to pieces on the stones

At bottom of my mind;

Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less

Than I reviled myself

For entertaining plated wares

Upon my silver shelf.

Emily Dickinson

I taste a liquor never brewed [cc]

I TASTE a liquor never brewed--

From Tankards scooped in Pearl--

Not all the vats upon the Rhine

Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air--am I--

And Debauchee of Dew--

Reeling--thro endless summer days--

From inns of Molten Blue--

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee

Out of the Foxglove's door--

When Butterflies renounce their "drams"--

I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats--

And Saints--to windows run--

To see the little Tippler

Leaning against the--Sun--

Emily Dickinson (1861) first published as The May Wine

"Hope" is the thing with feathers [cc]

"HOPE" is the thing with feathers--

That perches in the soul--

And sings the tune without the words--

And never stops--at all--

And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard--

And sore must be the storm--

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm--

I've heard it in the chillest land--

And on the strangest Sea--

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb--Of Me.

Emily Dickinson (1861)

The Return

THOUGH I get home how late, how late!

So I get home, 't will compensate.

Better will be the ecstasy

That they have done expecting me,

When, night descending, dumb and dark,

They hear my unexpected knock.

Transporting must the moment be,

Brewed from decades of agony!

To think just how the fires will burn,

Just how long-cheated eyes will turn

To wonder what myself will say,

And what itself will say to me,

Beguiles the centuries of way!

Emily Dickinson

Escape

I NEVER hear the word "escape"

Without a quicker blood,

A sudden expectation,

A flying attitude.

I never hear of prisons broad

by soldiers battered down,

But I tug childish at my bars--

Only to fail again!

Emily Dickinson

I never saw a Moor [cc]

I NEVER saw a Moor--

I never saw the Sea--

Yet know I how the Heather looks

And what a Billow be.

I never spoke with God

Nor visited in Heaven--

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the Checks were given--

Emily Dickinson

Hunger [cc]

I HAD been hungry, all the Years--

My Noon had Come--to dine--

I, trembling, drew the Table near--

And touched the Curious Wine--

'Twas this on Tables I had seen--

When turning, hungry, Home

I looked in Windows, for the Wealth

I could not hope--for Mine--

I did not know the ample Bread--

'Twas so unlike the Crumb

The birds and I had often shared

In Nature's Dining-Room--

The Plenty hurt me--'twas so new--

Myself felt ill--and odd--

As Berry--of A Mountain Bush

Transplanted--to the Road--

Nor was I hungry--so I found

That Hunger--was a way

Of Persons outside Windows--

The Entering--takes away--

Emily Dickinson

I gave myself to Him [cc]

I GAVE myself to Him--

And took Himself, for Pay,

The solemn contract of a Life

Was ratified, this way--

The Wealth might disappoint,

Myself a poorer prove

Than this great Purchaser suspect,

The Daily Own--of Love

Depreciate the Vision--

But till the Merchant buy--

Still Fable--in the Isles of Spice--

The subtle Cargoes--lie--

At least--'tis Mutual--Risk--

Some--found it--Mutual Gain--

Sweet Debt of Life--Each Night to owe--

Insolvent--every Noon--

Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book [cc]

THERE is no Frigate like a Book

To take us Lands away

Nor any Coursers like a Page

Of prancing Poetry--

This Traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of Toll--

How frugal is the Chariot

That bears the Human soul.

Emily Dickinson

A narrow Fellow in the Grass [cc]

A NARROW Fellow in the Grass

Occaisionally rides--

You may have met Him--did you not

His notice sudden is--

The Grass divides as with a Comb--

A spotted shaft is seen--

And then it closes at your feet

And opens further on--

He likes a Boggy Acre

A Floor too cool for Corn--

Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot--

I more than once at noon

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash,

Unbraiding in the Sun

When stooping to secure it

It wrinkled, and was gone--

Several of Nature's People

I know, and they know me--

I feel for them a transpoRt

Of cordiality--

But never met this Fellow,

Attended or alone

Without a tighter breathing

And Zero at the Bone.

Emily Dickinson (1866) first published as The Snake

It sifts from Leaden Sieves [cc]

IT sifts from Leaden Sieves--

It powders all the Wood.

It fills with Alabaster Wool

The Wrinkles of the Road--

It makes an Even Face

Of Mountain and of Plain--

Unbroken Forehead from the East

Unto the East again--

It reaches to the Fence--

It wraps it Rail by Rail

Till it is lost in Fleeces--

It deals Celestial Veil

To Stump and Stack--and Stem--

A Summer's empty Room--

Acres of Joints where Harvests were,

Recordless, but for them--

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts

As Ankles of a Queen--

Then stills its Artisans--like Ghosts,

Denying they have been--

Emily Dickinson

Nature the gentlest mother is

NATURE the gentlest mother is,

Impatient of no child,

The feeblest of the waywardest.

Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill

By traveller be heard,

Restraining rampant squirrel

Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation

A summer afternoon,

Her household her assembly;

And when the sun go down,

Her voice among the aisles

Incite the timid prayer

Of the minutest cricket,

The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep,

She turns as long away

As will suffice tolight her lamps,

Then bending from the sky

With infinite affection

An infiniter care,

Her golden finger on her lip,

Wills silence everywhere.

Emily Dickinson

What mystery pervades a well! [cc]

WHAT mystery pervades a well!

The water lives so far--

A neighbor from another world

Residing in a jar

Whose limit none have ever seen,

But just his lid of glass--

Like looking every time you please

In an abyss's face!

The grass does not appear afraid,

I often wonder he

Can stand so close and look so bold

At what is awe to me.

Related somehow they may be,

The sedge stands next the sea--

Where he is floorless

And does no timidity betray

But nature is a stranger yet;

The ones that cite her most

Have never passed her haunted house,

Nor simplified her ghost.

To pity those that know her not

Is helped by the regret

That those that know her, know her less

The nearer her they get.

Emily Dickinson

"Faith" is a fine invention [cc]

"FAITH" is a fine invention

When Gentlemen can see--

But Microsopes are prudent

In an Emergency.

Emily Dickinson

I'm Nobody! Who are you? [cc]

I'M Nobody! Who are you?

Are you--Nobody--too?

Then there's a pair of us!

Dont tell! they'd advertise--you know!

How dreary--to be--Somebody!

How public--like a Frog--

To tell your name--the livelong June--

To an admiring Bog!

Emily Dickinson (1858)

Because I could not stop for Death-- [cc]

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death--

He kindly stopped for me--

The Carriage held but just Ourselves--

And Immortality.

We slowly drove--He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labour and my leisure too,

For His Civility--

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess--in the Ring--

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain--

We passed the Setting Sun--

Or rather--He passed Us--

The Dews drew quivering and chill--

For only Gossamer, my Gown--

My Tippet--only Tulle--

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground--

The Roof was scarcely visible--

The Cornice--in the Ground--

Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses Heads

Were toward Eternity--

Emily Dickinson

I started Early (cc)

I STARTED Early--Took my Dog--

And visited the Sea--

The Mermaids in the Basement

Came out to look at me--

And Frigates-- in the Upper Floor

Extended Hempen Hands--

Presuming Me to be a Mouse--

Aground--upon the Sands--

But no Man moved Me--till the Tide

Went past my simple Shoe--

And past my Apron--and my Belt

And past my Bodice-- too--

And made as He would eat me up--

As wholly as A Dew

Upon a Dandelions's Sleeve--

And then-- I started--too--

And He--He followed--close behind--

I felt His Silver Heel

Upon my Ankle--Then my Shoes

Would overflow with Pearl--

Until We met the Solid Town--

No One He seemed to know--

And bowing--with a Mighty look--

At me--The Sea withdrew--

Emily Dickinson

My life had stood [cc]

MY Life had stood--a Loaded Gun--

In Corners--till a Day

The Owner passed--identified--

And carried Me away--

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods--

And now We hunt the Doe--

And every time I speak for Him--

The Mountains straight reply--

And do I smile, such cordial light

Upon the Valley glow--

It is as a Vesuvian face

Had let its pleasure through--

And when at Night--Our good Day done--

I guard My Master's Head--

'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's

Deep Pillow--to have shared--

To foe of His--I'm deadly foe--

None stir the second time--

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye--

Or an emphatic Thumb--

Though I than He--may longer live

He longer must--than I--

For I have but the power to kill,

Without--the power to die--

Emily Dickinson