Emily Dickinson Poem

By my Window have I for Scenery

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By my Window have I for Scenery

Just a Sea—with a Stem—

If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—

The Opinion will serve—for them—


It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—

That split their route to the Sky—

Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula

May be easier reached—this way—


For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—

And the upper side—is the Sun—

And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—

Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—


Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—

Can the Dumb—define the Divine?

The Definition of Melody—is—

That Definition is none—


It—suggests to our Faith—

They—suggest to our Sight—

When the latter—is put away

I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met

That Immortality—


Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow

Of the Royal” Infinity?

Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—

To be hallowed—accordingly—

By such and such an offering
By Chivalries as tiny


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