Category Emily Dickinson

Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her — Some Disease had vext ‘Twas with Text and Village Singing I beheld Her next And a Company — our pleasure To discourse alone — Gracious now to me as any —…

Though the great Waters sleep, That they are still the Deep, We cannot doubt — No vacillating God Ignited this Abode To put it out —

Those not live yet Who doubt to live again — “Again” is of a twice But this — is one — The Ship beneath the Draw Aground — is he? Death — so — the Hyphen of the Sea —…

Those final Creatures, – who they are – That faithful to the close Administer her ecstasy, But just the Summer knows.

Those cattle smaller than a Bee That herd upon the eye — Whose tillage is the passing Crumb — Those Cattle are the Fly — Of Barns for Winter — blameless — Extemporaneous stalls They found to our objection —…

Those — dying then, Knew where they went — They went to God’s Right Hand — That Hand is amputated now And God cannot be found — The abdication of Belief Makes the Behavior small — Better an ignis fatuus…

This slow Day moved along — I heard its axles go As if they could not hoist themselves They hated motion so — I told my soul to come — It was no use to wait — We went and…

This Me — that walks and works — must die, Some fair or stormy Day, Adversity if it may be Or wild prosperity The Rumor’s Gate was shut so tight Before my mind was born Not even a Prognostic’s push…

This is the place they hoped before, Where I am hoping now. The seed of disappointment grew Within a capsule gay, Too distant to arrest the feet That walk this plank of balm — Before them lies escapeless sea —…

This docile one inter While we who dare to live Arraign the sunny brevity That sparkled to the Grave. On her departing span No wilderness remain As dauntless in the House of Death As if it were her own —