Category Emily Dickinson

We miss a Kinsman more When warranted to see Than when withheld of Oceans From possibility A Furlong than a League Inflicts a pricklier pain, Till We, who smiled at Pyrenees – Of Parishes, complain.

We never know how high we are Till we are asked to rise And then if we are true to plan Our statures touch the skies – The Heroism we recite Would be a normal thing Did not ourselves the…

We never know we go when we are going – We jest and shut the Door – Fate – following – behind us bolts it – And we accost no more –

We send the Wave to find the Wave – An Errand so divine, The Messenger enamored too, Forgetting to return, We make the wise distinction still, Soever made in vain, The sagest time to dam the sea is when the…

We shall find the Cube — of the Rainbow – Of that – there is no doubt – But the Arc — of a Lover’s conjecture Eludes the finding out –

We shun because we prize her Face Lest sight’s ineffable disgrace Our Adoration stain

We shun it ere it comes, Afraid of Joy, Then sue it to delay And lest it fly, Beguile it more and more, May not this be Old Suitor Heaven, Like our dismay at thee?

We talked with each other about each other Though neither of us spoke – We were listening to the Second’s Races And the Hoofs of the Clock – Pausing in Front of our Palsied Faces Time compassion took – Arks…

We wear our sober Dresses when we die, But Summer, frilled as for a Holiday Adjourns her Sigh –

Were it but Me that gained the Hight – Were it but They, that failed! How many things the Dying play – Might they but live, they would!