Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
1.
A Bird came down the Walk—
A Bird came down the Walk—
He did not know I saw—
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,
And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass—
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass—
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around—
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought—
He stirred his Velvet Head
Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home—
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, splashless as they swim.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
2.
A Murmur in the Trees — to note —
A Murmur in the Trees — to note —
Not loud enough — for Wind —
A Star — not far enough to seek —
Nor near enough — to find —
A long — long Yellow — on the Lawn —
A Hubbub — as of feet —
Not audible — as Ours — to Us —
But dapperer — More Sweet —
A Hurrying Home of little Men
To Houses unperceived —
All this — and more — if I should tell —
Would never be believed —
Of Robins in the Trundle bed
How many I espy
Whose Nightgowns could not hide the Wings —
Although I heard them try —
But then I promised ne'er to tell —
How could I break My Word?
So go your Way — and I'll go Mine —
No fear you'll miss the Road.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
3.
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally 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 —
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But never met this Fellow,
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
4.
A still — Volcano — Life —
A still — Volcano — Life —
That flickered in the night —
When it was dark enough to do
Without erasing sight —
A quiet — Earthquake Style —
Too subtle to suspect
By natures this side Naples —
The North cannot detect
The Solemn — Torrid — Symbol —
The lips that never lie —
Whose hissing Corals part — and shut —
And Cities — ooze away —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
5.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
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 —
A Wooden Way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone —
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This is the Hour of Lead —
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow —
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
6.
An awful Tempest mashed the air —
An awful Tempest mashed the air —
The clouds were gaunt, and few —
A Black — as of a Spectre's Cloak
Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
The creatures chuckled on the Roofs —
And whistled in the air —
And shook their fists —
And gnashed their teeth —
And swung their frenzied hair.
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The morning lit — the Birds arose —
The Monster's faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast —
And peace — was Paradise!
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
7.
As imperceptibly as Grief
As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away —
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy —
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon —
The Dusk drew earlier in —
The Morning foreign shone —
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone —
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
8.
Because I could not stop for Death—
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 labor 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—
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Since then—'tis centuries— and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
9.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
"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.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
10.
I can wade Grief —
I can wade Grief —
Whole Pools of it —
I'm used to that —
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet —
And I tip — drunken —
Let no Pebble — smile —
'Twas the New Liquor —
That was all!
Power is only Pain —
Stranded, thro' Discipline,
Till Weights — will hang —
Give Balm — to Giants —
And they'll wilt, like Men —
Give Himmaleh —
They'll Carry — Him!
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
11.
I cautious, scanned my little life —
I cautious, scanned my little life —
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till Heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.
I put the latter in a Barn —
The former, blew away.
I went one winter morning
And lo - my priceless Hay
Was not upon the "Scaffold" —
Was not upon the "Beam" —
And from a thriving Farmer —
A Cynic, I became.
Whether a Thief did it —
Whether it was the wind —
Whether Deity's guiltless —
My business is, to find!
So I begin to ransack!
How is it Hearts, with Thee?
Art thou within the little Barn
Love provided Thee?
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
12.
I did not reach Thee
I did not reach Thee
But my feet slip nearer every day
Three Rivers and a Hill to cross
One Desert and a Sea
I shall not count the journey one
When I am telling thee.
Two deserts, but the Year is cold
So that will help the sand
One desert crossed
The second one
Will feel as cool as land
Sahara is too little price
To pay for thy Right hand.
The Sea comes last Step merry, feet,
So short we have to go
To play together we are prone,
But we must labor now,
The last shall be the lightest load
That we have had to draw.
The Sun goes crooked
That is Night
Before he makes the bend.
We must have passed the Middle Sea
Almost we wish the End
Were further off
Too great it seems
So near the Whole to stand.
We step like Plush,
We stand like snow,
The waters murmur new.
Three rivers and the Hill are passed
Two deserts and the sea!
Now Death usurps my Premium
And gets the look at Thee.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
13.
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
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?
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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 —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
14.
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading — treading — till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through —
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum —
Kept beating — beating — till I thought
My Mind was going numb —
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space — began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here —
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down —
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing — then —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
15.
I have a Bird in spring
I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing –
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears –
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown –
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast in safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are min –
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They're thine.
In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.
Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
16.
I have never seen "Volcanoes"—
I have never seen "Volcanoes"—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—
Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy "Pompeii"!
To the Hills return!
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
17.
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portions of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
18.
I measure every Grief I meet
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes —
I wonder if It weighs like Mine —
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long —
Or did it just begin —
I could not tell the Date of Mine —
It feels so old a pain —
I wonder if it hurts to live —
And if They have to try —
And whether — could They choose between —
It would not be — to die —
I note that Some — gone patient long —
At length, renew their smile —
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil —
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I wonder if when Years have piled —
Some Thousands — on the Harm —
That hurt them early — such a lapse
Could give them any Balm —
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve —
Enlightened to a larger Pain —
In Contrast with the Love —
The Grieved — are many — I am told —
There is the various Cause —
Death — is but one — and comes but once —
And only nails the eyes —
There's Grief of Want — and Grief of Cold —
A sort they call "Despair" —
There's Banishment from native Eyes —
In sight of Native Air —
And though I may not guess the kind —
Correctly — yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary —
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To note the fashions — of the Cross —
And how they're mostly worn —
Still fascinated to presume
That Some — are like My Own —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
19.
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
20.
It was not Death, for I stood up,
It
It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down —
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.
It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos — crawl —
Nor Fire — for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool —
And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine —
As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some –
When everything that ticked — has stopped —
And Space stares all around —
Or Grisly frosts — first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground —
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But, most, like Chaos – Stopless — cool —
Without a Chance, or Spar —
Or even a Report of Land —
To justify — Despair.
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
21.
My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun —
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 —
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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 —
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Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems (9596)
22.
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted —
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted —
One need not be a House —
The Brain has Corridors — surpassing
Material Place —
Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting —
That Cooler Host.
Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a'chase —
Than Unarmed, one's a'self encounter —
In lonesome Place —
Ourself behind ourself, concealed —
Should startle most —
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror's least.
The Body — borrows a Revolver —
He bolts the Door —
O'erlooking a superior spectre —
Or More —
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