Category Emily Dickinson

Here, where the Daisies fit my Head ‘Tis easiest to lie And every Grass that plays outside Is sorry, some, for Me –

Her spirit rose to such a height Her countenance it did inflate Like one that fed on awe. More prudent to assault the dawn Than merit the ethereal scorn That effervesced from her.

Rare to the rare – Her sovreign People Nature knows as well And is as fond of signifying As if fallible –

Her Losses make our Gains ashamed. She bore Life’s empty Pack As gallantly as if the East Were swinging at her Back. Life’s empty Pack is heaviest, As every Porter knows – In vain to punish Honey – It only…

Her little Parasol to lift And once to let it down Her whole Responsibility – To imitate, be Mine – A Summer further I must wear, Content if Nature’s Drawer Present Me from sepulchral Crease As blemishless, as Her –

Her face was in a bed of hair, Like flowers in a plot – Her hand was whiter than the sperm That feeds the sacred light. Her tongue more tender than the tune That totters in the leaves – Who…

“Heavenly Father” – take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband – Though to trust us – seems to us More respectful – “We are Dust” – We apologize to thee For thine…

He went by sleep that drowsy route To the surmising Inn – At daybreak to begin his race Or ever to remain –

He was my host – he was my guest, I never to this day If I invited him could tell, Or he invited me. So infinite our intercourse So intimate, indeed, Analysis as capsule seemed To keeper of the seed.

He scanned it – staggered – Dropped the Loop To Past or Period – Caught helpless at a sense as if His Mind were going blind – Groped up, to see if God was there – Groped backward at Himself…