The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson Read Online

Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected life,
A past of plank and nail,
And slowness,—then the scaffolds drop—
Affirming it a soul.

XXVII

THE gleam of an heroic act,
Such strange illumination—
The Possible’s slow fuse is lit
By the Imagination!

XXVIII

OF Death the sharpest function,
That, just as we discern,
The Excellence defies us;
Securest gathered then
The fruit perverse to plucking,
But leaning to the sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight.

XXIX

DOWN Time’s quaint stream
Without an oar,
We are enforced to sail,
Our Port—a secret—
Our Perchance—a gale.
What Skipper would
Incur the risk,
What Buccaneer would ride,
Without a surety from the wind
Or schedule of the tide?

XXX

I bet with every Wind that blew, till Nature in
chagrin
Employed a Fact to visit me and scuttle my
Balloon!

XXXI

THE Future never spoke,
Nor will he, like the Dumb,
Reveal by sign or syllable
Of his profound To-come.
But when the news be ripe,
Presents it in the Act—
Forestalling preparation
Escape or substitute.
Indifferent to him
The Dower as the Doom,
His office but to execute
Fate’s Telegram to him.

XXXII

TWO lengths has every day,
Its absolute extent-
And area superior
By hope or heaven lent.
Eternity will be
Velocity, or pause,
At fundamental signals
From fundamental laws.
To die, is not to go—
On doom’s consummate chart
No territory new is staked,
Remain thou as thou art.

XXXIII

THE Soul’s superior instants
Occur to Her alone,
When friend and earth’s occasion
Have infinite withdrawn.

Or she, Herself, ascended
To too remote a height,
For lower recognition
Than Her Omnipotent.

This mortal abolition
Is seldom, but as fair
As Apparition—subject
To autocratic air.

Eternity’s disclosure
To favorites, a few,
Of the Colossal substance
Of immortality.

XXXIV

NATURE is what we see,
The Hill, the Afternoon—
Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee,
Nay—Nature is Heaven.

Nature is what we hear,
The Bobolink, the Sea-
Thunder, the Cricket—
Nay,—Nature is Harmony.

Nature is what we know
But have no art to say,
So impotent our wisdom is
To Her simplicity.

XXXV

AH, Teneriffe!234
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages pause for you,
Sunset reviews her Sapphire Regiment,
Day drops you her red Adieu!

Still, clad in your mail of ices,
Thigh of granite and thew235 of steel—
Heedless, alike, of pomp or parting,
Ah, Teneriffe!
I’m kneeling still.

XXXVI

SHE died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turk
Upon a couch of flowers.

Her ghost strolled softly o‘er the hill
Yesterday and today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece,
Her countenance as spray.

XXXVII

“MORNING” means “Milking” to the Farmer
Dawn to the Apennines-
Dice to the Maid.
“Morning” means just Chance to the Lover—
Just Revelation to the Beloved.

Epicures236 date a breakfast by it!
Heroes a battle,
The Miller a flood,
Faint-going eyes their lapse
From sighing,
Faith, the Experiment of our Lord!

XXXVIII

A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown,
Who ponders this tremendous scene—
This whole experiment of green,
As if it were his own!

XXXIX

I can’t tell you, but you feel it—
Nor can you tell me,
Saints with vanished slate and pencil
Solve our April day.

Sweeter than a vanished Frolic
From a vanished Green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a ledge of Dream!

Modest, let us walk among it.
With our “faces veiled”,
As they say polite Archangels
Do, in meeting God.237

Not for me to prate about it,
Not for you to say
To some fashionable Lady—
“Charming April Day!”

Rather Heaven’s “Peter Parley”,238
By which, Children—slow—
To sublimer recitations
Are prepared to go!

XL

SOME Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie,
The Day that a companion came—
Or was obliged to die.

XLI

LIKE Men and Women shadows walk
Upon the hills today,
With here and there a mighty bow,
Or trailing courtesy
To Neighbors, doubtless, of their own;
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape, as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live.

XLII

THE butterfly obtains
But little sympathy,
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology.239
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat,
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute.
Had he the homely scutcheon240 of modest Industry,
’T were fitter certifying for Immortality.

XLIII

BEAUTY crowds me till I die,
Beauty, mercy have on me!
But if I expire today,
Let it be in sight of thee.

XLIV

WE spy the Forests and the Hills,
The tents to Nature’s Show,
Mistake the outside for the in
And mention what we saw.

Could Commentators on the sign
Of Nature’s Caravan
Obtain “admission,” as a child,
Some Wednesday afternoon?

XLV

I never told the buried gold
Upon the hill that lies,
I saw the sun, his plunder done,
Crouch low to guard his prize.

He stood as near, as stood you here,
A pace had been between—
Did but a snake bisect the brake,
My life had forfeit been.

That was a wondrous booty,
I hope ’t was honest gained—
Those were the finest ingots241
That ever kissed the spade.

Whether to keep the secret—
Whether to reveal—
Whether, while I ponder
Kidd242 may sudden sail—

Could a Shrewd advise me
We might e‘en divide—
Should a Shrewd betray me—
“Atropos” 243 decide!

XLVI

THE largest fire ever known
Occurs each afternoon,
Discovered is without surprise,
Proceeds without concern:
Consumes, and no report to men,
An Occidental town,
Rebuilt another morning
To be again burned down.

XLVII

BLOOM upon the Mountain, stated,
Blameless of a name.
Efflorescence of a Sunset-
Reproduced, the same.

Seed, had I, my purple sowing
Should endow the Day,
Not a tropic of the twilight
Show itself away.

Who for tilling, to the Mountain
Come, and disappear—
Whose be Her renown, or fading,
Witness, is not here.

While I state—the solemn petals
Far as North and East,
Far as South and West expanding,
Culminate in rest.

And the Mountain to the Evening
Fit His countenance,
Indicating by no muscle
The Experience.

XLVIII

MARCH is the month of expectation,
The things we do not know,
The Persons of prognostication
Are coming now.
We try to sham becoming firmness,
But pompous joy
Betrays us, as his first betrothal
Betrays a boy.

XLIX

THE Duties of the Wind are few—
To cast the Ships at sea,
Establish March,
The Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.

L

THE Winds drew off
Like hungry dogs
Defeated of a bone.
Through fissures in
Volcanic cloud
The yellow lightning shown.
The trees held up
Their mangled limbs
Like animals in pain,
When Nature falls
Upon herself,
Beware an Austrian!

LI

I think that the root of the Wind is Water,
It would not sound so deep
Were it a firmamental product,
Airs no Oceans keep—
Mediterranean intonations,
To a Current’s ear
There is a maritime conviction
In the atmosphere.

LII

So, from the mould,
Scarlet and gold
Many a Bulb will rise,
Hidden away cunningly
From sagacious eyes.
So, from cocoon
Many a Worm
Leap so Highland244 gay,
Peasants like me—
Peasants like thee,
Gaze perplexedly.

LIII

THE long sigh of the Frog
Upon a Summer’s day,
Enacts intoxication
Upon the revery.
But his receding swell
Substantiates a peace,
That makes the ear inordinate
For corporal release.

LIV

A cap of lead across the sky
Was tight and surly drawn,
We could not find the Mighty Face,
The figure was withdrawn.

A chill came up as from a shaft,
Our noon became a well,
A thunder storm combines the charms
Of Winter and of Hell.

LV

I send two Sunsets—
Day and I in competition ran,
I finished two, and several stars,
While He was making one.

His own is ampler—
But, as I was saying to a friend,
Mine is the more convenient
To carry in the hand.

(Sent with brilliant flowers.)

LVI

OF this is Day composed—
A morning and a noon,
A Revelry unspeakable
And then a gay Unknown;
Whose Pomps allure and spurn—
And dower and deprive,
And penury for glory
Remedilessly leave.

LVII

THE Hills erect their purple heads,
The Rivers lean to see—
Yet Man has not, of all the throng,
A curiosity.

LVIII

LIGHTLY stepped a yellow star
To its lofty place,
Loosed the Moon her silver hat
From her lustral 245 face.
All of evening softly lit
As an astral hall—
“Father,” I observed to Heaven,
“You are punctual.”

LIX

THE Moon upon her fluent route
Defiant of a road,
The stars Etruscan246 argument,
Substantiate a God.
If Aims impel these Astral Ones,
The Ones allowed to know,
Know that which makes them as forgot
As Dawn forgets them now.

LX

LIKE some old-fashioned miracle
When Summertime is done,
Seems Summer’s recollection
And the affairs of June.

As infinite tradition
As Cinderella’s bays,
Or little John 247 of Lincoln Green,
Or Bluebeard‘s248 galleries.

Her Bees have a fictitious hum,
Her Blossoms, like a dream,
Elate—until we almost weep
So plausible they seem.

Her Memories like strains—review—
When Orchestra is dumb,
The Violin in balze249 replaced
And Ear and Heaven numb.

LXI

GLOWING is her Bonnet,
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,250
Yet she cannot speak!

Better, as the Daisy
From the Summer hill,
Vanish unrecorded
Save by tearful Rill,251

Save by loving Sunrise
Looking for her face,
Save by feet unnumbered
Pausing at the place!

LXII

FOREVER cherished be the tree,
Whose apple Winter warm,
Enticed to breakfast from the sky
Two Gabriels yestermorn;
They registered in Nature’s book
As Robin—Sire and Son,
But angels have that modest way
To screen them from renown.

LXIII

THE Ones that disappeared are back,
The Phoebe252 and the Crow,
Precisely as in March is heard
The curtness of the Jay—
Be this an Autumn or a Spring?
My wisdom loses way,
One side of me the nuts are ripe—
The other side is May.

LXIV

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

LXV

SUMMER begins to have the look,
Peruserof enchanting Book253
Reluctantly, but sure, perceives—
A gain upon the backward leaves.

Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud,
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.

The eye begins its avarice,
A meditation chastens speech,
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.

Conclusion is the course of all,
Almost to be perennial,
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.

LXVI

A prompt, executive Bird is the Jay,
Bold as a Bailiff’s hymn,
Brittle and brief in quality—
Warrant in every line;

Sitting a bough like a Brigadier,
Confident and straight,
Much is the mien
Of him in March
As a Magistrate.

LXVII

LIKE brooms of steel
The Snow and Wind
Had swept the Winter Street,
The House was hooked,
The Sun sent out
Faint Deputies of heat—
Where rode the Bird
The Silence tied
His ample, plodding Steed,
The Apple in the cellar snug
Was all the one that played.

LXVIII

THESE are the days that Reindeer love
And pranks the Northern star,
This is the Sun’s objective
And Finland of the year.

LXIX

FOLLOW wise Orion
Till you lose your eye,
Dazzlingly decamping
He is just as high.

LXX

IN winter, in my room,
I came upon a worm,
Pink, lank, and warm.
But as he was a worm
And worms presume,
Not quite with him at home—
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring,
And went along.

A trifle afterward
A thing occurred,
I’d not believe it if I heard—
But state with creeping blood;
A snake, with mottles rare,
Surveyed my chamber floor,
In feature as the worm before,
But ringed with power.
The very string
With which I tied him, too,
When he was mean and new,
That string was there.

I shrank—“How fair you are!”
Propitiation‘s254 claw—
“Afraid,” he hissed,
“Of me?”
“No cordiality?”
He fathomed255 me.
Then, to a rhythm slim
Secreted in his form,
As patterns swim,
Projected him.

That time I flew,
Both eyes his way,
Lest he pursue—
Nor ever ceased to run,
Till, in a distant town,
Towns on from mine—
I sat me down;
This was a dream.

LXXI

NOT any sunny tone
From any fervent zone
Finds entrance there.
Better a grave of Balm
Toward human nature’s home,
And Robins near,
Than a stupendous Tomb
Proclaiming to the gloom
How dead we are.

LXXII

FOR Death,—or rather
For the things ’t will buy,
These put away
Life’s opportunity.

The things that Death will buy
Are Room,—Escape
From Circumstances,
And a Name.

How gifts of Life
With Death’s gifts will compare,
We know not—
For the rates stop Here.

LXXIII

DROPPED into the
Ether Acre!
Wearing the sod gown-
Bonnet of Everlasting laces—
Brooch frozen on!
Horses of blonde—
And coach of silver,
Baggage a strapped Pearl!
Journey of Down
And whip of Diamond—
Riding to meet the Earl!

LXXIV

THIS quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies,
And Lads and Girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls.

This passive place a Summer’s nimble mansion,
Where Bloom and Bees
Fulfilled their Oriental Circuit,
Then ceased like these.

LXXV

’T was comfort in her dying room
To hear the living clock,
A short relief to have the wind
Walk boldly up and knock,
Diversion from the dying theme
To hear the children play,
But wrong, the mere
That these could live,—
And This of ours must die!

LXXVI

Too cold is this
To warm with sun,
Too stiff to bended be,
To joint this agate256 were a feat
Outstaring masonry.
How went the agile kernel out—
Contusion of the husk,
Nor rip, nor wrinkle indicate,—
But just an Asterisk.

LXXVII

I watched her face to see which way
She took the awful news,
Whether she died before she heard—
Or in protracted bruise
Remained a few short years with us,
Each heavier than the last—
A further afternoon to fail,
As Flower at fall of Frost.

LXXVIII

TO-DAY or this noon
She dwelt so close,
I almost touched her;
Tonight she lies
Past neighborhood—
And bough and steeple—
Now past surmise.

LXXIX

I see thee better in the dark,
I do not need a light.
The love of thee a prism be
Excelling violet.

I see thee better for the years
That hunch themselves between,
The miner’s lamp sufficient be
To nullify the mine.

And in the grave I see thee best-
Its little panels be
A-glow, all ruddy with the light
I held so high for thee!

What need of day to those whose dark
Hath so surpassing sun,
It seem it be continually
At the meridian?257

LXXX

Low at my problem bending,
Another problem comes,
Larger than mine, serener,
Involving statelier sums;
I check my busy pencil,
My ciphers258 slip away,
Wherefore, my baffled fingers,
Time Eternity?

LXXXI

IF pain for peace prepares,
Lo the “Augustan”259 years
Our feet await!

If Springs from Winter rise,
Can the Anemone’s
Be reckoned up?

If night stands first, then noon,
To gird us for the sun,
What gaze—

When, from a thousand skies,
On our developed eyes
Noons blaze!

LXXXII

I fit for them,
I seek the dark till I am thorough fit.
The labor is a solemn one,
With this sufficient sweet—
That abstinence as mine produce
A purer good for them,
If I succeed,—
If not, I had
The transport of the Aim.

LXXXIII

NOT one by Heaven defrauded stay,
Although He seem to steal,
He restitutes260 in some sweet way.
Secreted in His will.

LXXXIV

THE feet of people walking home
In gayer sandals go,
The Crocus, till she rises,
The Vassal261 of the Snow—
The lips at Hallelujah!
Long years of practice bore,
Till bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.

Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea,
Pinions262 the Seraph’s wagon,
Pedestrians once, as we—
Night is the morning’s canvas,
Larceny, legacy,
Death but our rapt attention
To immortality.

My figures fail to tell me
How far the village lies,
Whose Peasants are the angels,
Whose Cantons263 dot the skies,
My Classics veil their faces,
My Faith that dark adores,
Which from its solemn Abbeys
Such resurrection pours!

LXXXV

WE should not mind so small a flower,
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the lawn again.
So spicy her Carnations red,
So drunken reel her Bees,
So silver steal a hundred Flutes
From out a hundred trees,
That whoso sees this little flower,
By faith may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne,
And Dandelions gold.

LXXXVI

To the staunch Dust we safe commit thee;
Tongue if it hath, inviolate to thee—
Silence denote and Sanctity enforce thee,
Passenger of Infinity!

LXXXVII

HER “Last Poems”—
Poets ended,
Silver perished with her tongue,
Not on record bubbled other
Flute, or Woman, so divine;
Not unto its Summer morning
Robin uttered half the tune-
Gushed too free for the adoring,
From the Anglo-Florentine.264
Late the praise—
’T is dull conferring
On a Head too high to crown,
Diadem or Ducal265 showing,
Be its Grave sufficient sign.
Yet if we, no Poet’s kinsman,
Suffocate with easy woe,
What and if ourself a Bridegroom,
Put Her down, in Italy?

(Written after the death of Mrs. Browning in 1861.)

LXXXVIII

IMMURED266 in Heaven! What a Cell!
Let every bondage be,
Thou Sweetest of the Universe,
Like that which ravished thee!

LXXXIX

I’M thinking of that other morn,
When Cerements267 let go,
And Creatures clad in Victory
Go up in two by two!

XC

THE overtakelessness of those
Who have accomplished Death,
Majestic is to me beyond
The majesties of Earth.

The soul her “not at Home”
Inscribes upon the flesh,
And takes her fair aerial gait
Beyond the hope of touch.

XCI

THE Look of Thee, what is it like?
Hast thou a hand or foot,
Or mansion of Identity,
And what is thy Pursuit?

Thy fellows,—are they Realms or Themes?
Hast thou Delight or Fear
Or Longing,—and is that for us
Or values more severe?

Let change transfuse all other traits,
Enact all other blame,
But deign this least certificate—
That thou shalt be the same.

XCII

THE Devil, had he fidelity,
Would be the finest friend—
Because he has ability,
But Devils cannot mend.
Perfidy is the virtue
That would he but resign,—
The Devil, so amended,
Were durably divine.

XCIII

PAPA above!
Regard a Mouse
O‘erpowered by the Cat;
Reserve within thy Kingdom
A “mansion” for the Rat!

Snug in seraphic cupboards
To nibble all the day,
While unsuspecting cycles
Wheel pompously away.

XCIV

NOT when we know
The Power accosts,
The garment of Surprise
Was all our timid Mother wore
At Home, in Paradise.

XCV

ELIJAH‘S268 wagon knew no thill,
Was innocent of wheel,
Elijah’s horses as unique
As was his vehicle.
Elijah’s journey to portray,
Expire with him the skill,
Who justified Elijah,
In feats inscrutable.

XCVI

“REMEMBER me,” implored the Thief—
Oh magnanimity!
“My Visitor in Paradise
I give thee Guaranty.”

That courtesy will fair remain,
When the delight is dust,
With which we cite this mightiest case
Of compensated Trust.

Of All, we are allowed to hope,
But Affidavit stands
That this was due, where some, we fear,
Are unexpected friends.

XCVII

TO this apartment deep
No ribaldry may creep;
Untroubled this abode
By any man but God.

XCVIII

“SOWN in dishonor?”
Ah! Indeed!
May this dishonor be?
If I were half so fine myself,
I’d notice nobody!

“Sown in corruption?”
By no means!
Apostle is askew;
Corinthians 1:15, narrates
A circumstance or two!269

XCIX

THROUGH lane it lay, through bramble,
Through clearing and through wood,
Banditti270 often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The wolf came purring curious,
The owl looked puzzled down,
The serpent’s satin figure
Glid stealthily along.

The tempest touched our garments,
The lightning’s poignards271 gleamed,
Fierce from the crag above us
The hungry vulture screamed.

The satyr‘s272 fingers beckoned,
The valley murmured “Come”—
These were the mates—and this the road
Those children fluttered home.

C

WHO is it seeks my pillow nights?
With plain inspecting face,
“Did you, or did you not?” to ask,
’T is Conscience, childhood’s nurse.

With martial hand she strokes the hair
Upon my wincing head,
“All rogues shall have their part in”—
What-
The Phosphorus 273 of God.

CI

His Cheek is his Biographer—
As long as he can blush,
Perdition is Opprobrium;
Past that, he sins in peace.

Thief

CII

“HEAVENLY Father,” take to thee
The supreme iniquity,
Fashioned by thy candid hand
In a moment contraband.