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Poems. Emily Dickinson.

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About the author Emily Dickinson (December

10, 1830 - May 15, 1886), nine- teenth century United States poet was born in Amherst, Massachu- setts to a prominent family known for support of the local educational institutions. Emily's grandfather, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, was one of the founders of Amherst College, and her father served as lawyer and treasurer for the insti- tution. Emily's father also served in powerful positions on the Gen- eral Court of Massachusetts, the Massachusetts State Senate, and the United States House of Rep- resentatives.

During a religious revival that swept Western Massachusetts dur- ing the decades of 1840-50, Dickinson found her vocation as a poet. One of her biographers has suggested that Dickinson thought of be- coming a poet in the Biblical terms of Jacob wrestling with the angel.

Dickinson lived most of her life in the house in which she was born, made a few trips to visit relatives in Boston, Cambridge, and Con- necticut. Most of her work is not only reflective of the small moments of what happens around her, but also of the larger battles and themes of what was happening in the larger society. For example, over half of her poems were written during the years of the American Civil War. In the words of one of her most memorable lines, Dickinson's poems tell all the truth but tell it slant:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant— Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or everyman be blind—

By the time of her death, no more than seven Dickinson poems had been published, but her legacy of 1776 poems eventually brought the full extent of her work to the world. Today, Dickinson is not only considered one of the most accessible poets of all time but one of the most representative. Features of her work that were considered oddi- ties have become signature aspects of her style and form. Dramatic asides, odd capitalization, telegraphic dash punctuation, hymnbook rhythms, off-rhymes, multiple voices, and elaborate metaphors have become recognizable to readers across time and translations of her work.

She died, as she was born, in Amherst, Massachusetts.

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Contents

Click on a poem in the list to go to the first line of that poem.

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1. A Book 2. A Charm Invests A Face 3. A Narrow Fellow in the Grass 4. A Thunderstorm 5. A wounded deer leaps highest, 6. Because I Could Not Stop for Death 7. Come slowly, Eden! 8. Death Sets A Thing 9. Did The Harebell Loose Her Girdle 10. Heart, we will forget him! 11. Hope is the Thing with Feathers 12. I Died for Beauty, but was Scarce 13. I Felt a Funeral in My Brain 14. I Went to Heaven 15. I'm Nobody! Who are You? 16. I've Known a Heaven Like a Tent 17. My Life Closed Twice Before it Closed 18. She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms 19. Snake 20. Success is Counted Sweetest 21. Summer Shower 22. The Bustle in a House 23. The Mystery of Pain 24. The Only News I Know 25. The Pedigree of Honey 26. There Came a Wind Like a Bugle 27. There Is A Word

28. There's a certain slant of light, 29. There's Been a Death in the Opposite House 30. This Is My Letter To The World 31. This Quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies 32. We Like March 33. When Roses Cease To Bloom, Dear 34. Wild Nights! Wild Nights!

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Poems of Emily Dickinson.

—1.

A Book

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul!

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—2.

A Charm Invests A Face

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld. The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies, ‘Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

—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 child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun,— When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone.

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Several of nature’s people I know, and they know me; I feel for them a transport Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing, And zero at the bone.

—4.

A Thunderstorm

The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low, - He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky.

The leaves unhooked themselves from trees And started all abroad; The dust did scoop itself like hands And throw away the road.

The wagons quickened on the streets, The thunder hurried slow; The lightning showed a yellow beak, And then a livid claw.

The birds put up the bars to nests, The cattle fled to barns; There came one drop of giant rain, And then, as if the hands

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That held the dams had parted hold, The waters wrecked the sky, But overlooked my father’s house, Just quartering a tree. —5.

A wounded deer leaps highest.

A wounded deer leaps highest, I’ve heard the hunter tell; ’Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, “you’re hurt” exclaim

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—6.

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 labour, and my leisure too, For his civility.

We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity.

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—7.

Come slowly, Eden!

Come slowly, Eden! lips unused to thee, Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectars —enters, And is lost in balms!

—8.

Death Sets A Thing

Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly

To ponder little workmanships In crayon or in wool, With “This was last her fingers did,” Industrious until

The thimble weighed too heavy, The stitches stopped themselves, And then ‘t was put among the dust Upon the closet shelves. A book I have, a friend gave, Whose pencil, here and there, Had notched the place that pleased him,— At rest his fingers are.

Now, when I read, I read not,

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For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs.

—9.

Did The Harebell Loose Her Girdle

Did the harebell loose her girdle To the lover bee, Would the bee the harebell hallow Much as formerly?

Did the paradise, persuaded, Yield her moat of pearl, Would the Eden be Eden, Or the earl an earl?

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—10.

Heart, we will forget him!

Heart, we will forget him! You an I, tonight! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging. I may remember him!

—11.

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 chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

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—12.

I Died for Beauty, but was Scarce

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth, -the two are one; We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.

—13.

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.

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—14.

I Went to Heaven

I went to heaven, - ’Twas a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields At the full dew, Beautiful as pictures No man drew. People like the moth, Of mechlin, frames, Duties of gossamer, And eider names. Almost contented I could be ‘Mong such unique Society.

—15.

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 banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!

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—16.

I’ve Known a Heaven Like a Tent

I’ve known a Heaven like a tent To wrap its shining yards, Pluck up its stakes and disappear Without the sound of boards Or rip of nail, or carpenter, But just the miles of stare That signalize a show’s retreat In North America. No trace, no figment of the thing That dazzled yesterday, No ring, no marvel; Men and feats Dissolved as utterly As birds’ far navigation Discloses just a hue; A plash of oars -a gaiety, Then swallowed up to view.

—17.

My Life Closed Twice Before it Closed

My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.

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—18.

She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms

She sweeps with many-colored brooms, And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond!

You dropped a purple ravelling in, You dropped an amber thread; And now you’ve littered all the East With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms, And still the aprons fly, Till brooms fade softly into stars - And then I come away.

—19.

Snake

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 child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun, - When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone.

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Several of nature’s people I know, and they know me; I feel for them a transport Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing, And zero at the bone.

—20.

Success is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag today Can tell the definition, So clear, of victory

As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear!

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—21.

Summer Shower

A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, Were they pearls, What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung; The sunshine threw his hat away, The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away.

—22.

The Bustle in a House

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth, -

The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity.

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—23.

The Mystery of Pain

Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself, Its infinite realms contain Its past, enlightened to perceive New periods of pain.

—24.

The Only News I Know

The only news I know Is bulletins all day From Immortality.

The only shows I see, Tomorrow and Today, Perchance Eternity.

The only One I meet Is God, -the only street, Existance; this traversed

If other news there be, Or admirabler show - I’ll tell it you.

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—25.

The Pedigree of Honey

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

—26.

There Came a Wind Like a Bugle

There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom’s electric moccasin That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day. The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world!

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—27.

There Is A Word

There is a word Which bears a sword can pierce an armed man.

It hurls its barbed syllables, — At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman! Time’s sublimest target Is a soul “forgot”!

—28.

There’s a certain slant of light,

There’s a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us; We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything, ’Tis the seal, despair,- An imperial affliction Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens, Shadows hold their breath; When it goes, ‘t is like the distance On the look of death.

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—29.

There’s Been a Death in the Opposite House

There’s been a death in the opposite house As lately as today. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway.

The neighbours rustle in and out, The doctor drives away. A window opens like a pod, Abrupt, mechanically;

Somebody flings a mattress out, - The children hurry by; They wonder if It died on that, - I used to when a boy.

The minister goes stiffly in As if the house were his, And he owned all the mourners now, And little boys besides;

And then the milliner, and the man Of the appalling trade, To take the measure of the house. There’ll be that dark parade

Of tassels and of coaches soon; It’s easy as a sign, - The intuition of the news In just a country town.

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—30.

This Is My Letter To The World.

Letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me!

—31.

This Quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies

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.

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—32.

We Like March

We like March, his shoes are purple, He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his coming, And begets her spot. Stands the sun so close and mighty That our minds are hot . News is he of all the others; Bold it were to die With the blue-birds buccaneering On his British sky.

—33.

When Roses Cease To Bloom, Dear

When roses cease to bloom, dear and violets are done, When bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the sun,

The hand that paused to gather Upon this summer’s day Will idle lie, in Auburn.— Then take my flower, pray!

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—34.

Wild Nights! Wild Nights!

Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury!

Futile the winds To a heart in port, — Done with the compass, Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea!

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