Emily Dickinson

Who Giants know, with lesser Men Are incomplete, and shy For Greatness, that is ill at ease In minor Company A Smaller, could not be perturbed The Summer Gnat displays Unconscious that his single

The event was directly behind Him Yet He did not guess Fitted itself to Himself like a Robe Relished His ignorance. Motioned itself to drill Loaded and Levelled And let His Flesh Centuries from

He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on He stuns you by degrees Prepares your brittle Nature For the Ethereal Blow By fainter Hammers further heard

You’re right “the way is narrow” And “difficult the Gate” And “few there be” Correct again That “enter in thereat” ‘Tis Costly So are purples! ‘Tis just the price of Breath With but the

The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb What merit have the Tune No Breakfast if it guaranty The Rose content may bloom To gain renown of Lady’s Drawer But if the Lady come

God permits industrious Angels Afternoons to play I met one forgot my Schoolmates All for Him straightway God calls home the Angels promptly At the Setting Sun I missed mine how dreary Marbles After

Of Tribulation, these are They, Denoted by the White The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank Of Victors designate All these did conquer But the ones who overcame most times Wear nothing commoner than Snow

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 grave my little cottage is, Where “Keeping house” for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite

Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found Returns us not, but after time We soberly descend A little newer for

The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go The Crocus til she rises The Vassal of the snow The lips at Hallelujah Long years of practise bore Til bye and bye these

To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain Is an unfurnished Circumstance Possession is to One As an Estate perpetual Or a reduceless

Of nearness to her sundered Things The Soul has special times When Dimness looks the Oddity Distinctness easy seems The Shapes we buried, dwell about, Familiar, in the Rooms Untarnished by the Sepulchre, The

I was a Phoebe nothing more A Phoebe nothing less The little note that others dropt I fitted into place I dwelt too low that any seek Too shy, that any blame A Phoebe

She rose to His Requirement dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife If ought She missed in Her new Day, Of Amplitude, or Awe Or

What we see we know somewhat Be it but a little What we don’t surmise we do Though it shows so fickle I shall vote for Lands with Locks Granted I can pick ’em

Nature the Gentlest Mother is, Impatient of no Child The feeblest or the waywardest Her Admonition mild In Forest and the Hill By Traveller be heard Restraining Rampant Squirrel Or too impetuous Bird How

He ate and drank the precious Words His Spirit grew robust He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust He danced along the dingy Days And this Bequest

The Outer from the Inner Derives its Magnitude ‘Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood The fine unvarying Axis That regulates the Wheel Though Spokes spin more conspicuous And fling a

The Moon upon her fluent Route Defiant of a Road The Star’s Etruscan Argument Substantiate a God If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as

To earn it by disdaining it Is Fame’s consummate Fee He loves what spurns him Look behind He is pursuing thee. So let us gather every Day The Aggregate of Life’s Bouquet Be Honor

These held their Wick above the West Till when the Red declined Or how the Amber aided it Defied to be defined Then waned without disparagement In a dissembling Hue That would not let

Denial is the only fact Perceived by the Denied Whose Will a numb significance The Day the Heaven died And all the Earth strove common round Without Delight, or Beam What Comfort was it

The Sun just touched the Morning The Morning Happy thing Supposed that He had come to dwell And Life would all be Spring! She felt herself supremer A Raised Ethereal Thing! Henceforth for Her

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure drop The Day must follow too. If we demur, its gaping sides Disclose as ’twere a Tomb Ourself

‘Tis Anguish grander than Delight ‘Tis Resurrection Pain The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again. ‘Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves When Cerements let go And Creatures clad in Miracle

One Anguish in a Crowd A Minor thing it sounds And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds ‘Tis Terror as consummate As Legions of Alarm Did leap, full flanked, upon the

The smouldering embers blush Oh Hearts within the Coal Hast thou survived so many years? The smouldering embers smile Soft stirs the news of Light The stolid seconds glow One requisite has Fire that

In lands I never saw they say Immortal Alps look down Whose Bonnets touch the firmament Whose Sandals touch the town Meek at whose everlasting feet A Myriad Daisy play Which, Sir, are you

How the old Mountains drip with Sunset How the Hemlocks burn How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder By the Wizard Sun How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet Till the Ball is

The Blunder is in estimate. Eternity is there We say, as of a Station Meanwhile he is so near He joins me in my Ramble Divides abode with me No Friend have I that

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

Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling By Childhood fortified We thought, at least

The Wind tapped like a tired Man And like a Host “Come in” I boldly answered entered then My Residence within A Rapid footless Guest To offer whom a Chair Were as impossible as

Severer Service of myself I hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind I worried Nature with my Wheels When Hers had ceased to run When she had put

Not any more to be lacked Not any more to be known Denizen of Significance For a span so worn Even Nature herself Has forgot it is there Sedulous of her Multitudes Notwithstanding Despair

I gained it so By Climbing slow By Catching at the Twigs that grow Between the Bliss and me It hung so high As well the Sky Attempt by Strategy I said I gained

The Mountains grow unnoticed Their Purple figures rise Without attempt Exhaustion Assistance or Applause In Their Eternal Faces The Sun with just delight Looks long and last and golden For fellowship at night

One Year ago jots what? God spell the word! I can’t Was’t Grace? Not that Was’t Glory? That will do Spell slower Glory Such Anniversary shall be

The Sun and Moon must make their haste The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned His Eye, it is the East and West The North and

Pain expands the Time Ages coil within The minute Circumference Of a single Brain Pain contracts the Time Occupied with Shot Gamuts of Eternities Are as they were not

I reason, Earth is short And Anguish absolute And many hurt, But, what of that? I reason, we could die The best Vitality Cannot excel Decay, But, what of that? I reason, that in

To die takes just a little while They say it doesn’t hurt It’s only fainter by degrees And then it’s out of sight A darker Ribbon for a Day A Crape upon the Hat

Behind Me dips Eternity Before Me Immortality Myself the Term between Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin ‘Tis Kingdoms afterward they say In perfect pauseless

Except the smaller size No lives are round These hurry to a sphere And show and end The larger slower grow And later hang The Summers of Hesperides Are long.

There’s something quieter than sleep Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast And will not tell its name. Some touch it, and some kiss it Some chafe its idle hand

As plan for Noon and plan for Night So differ Life and Death In positive Prospective The Foot upon the Earth At Distance, and Achievement, strains, The Foot upon the Grave Makes effort at

All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid. Gathered from many wanderings Gethsemane can tell Thro’ what transporting anguish She reached the Asphodel!

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

You said that I “was Great” one Day Then “Great” it be if that please Thee Or Small or any size at all Nay I’m the size suit Thee Tall like the Stag would