Home ⇒ 📌Emily Dickinson ⇒ If anybody's friend be dead
If anybody's friend be dead
If anybody’s friend be dead
It’s sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive
At such and such a time
Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the Hair
A prank nobody knew but them
Lost, in the Sepulchre
How warm, they were, on such a day,
You almost feel the date
So short way off it seems
And now they’re Centuries from that
How pleased they were, at what you said
You try to touch the smile
And dip your fingers in the frost
When was it Can you tell
You asked the Company to tea
Acquaintance just a few
And chatted close with this Grand Thing
That don’t remember you
Past Bows, and Invitations
Past Interview, and Vow
Past what Ourself can estimate
That makes the Quick of Woe!
(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
Related poetry:
- A Dead Friend I. Gone, O gentle heart and true, Friend of hopes foregone, Hopes and hopeful days with you Gone? Days of old that shone Saw what none shall see anew, When we gazed thereon. Soul as clear as sunlit dew, Why so soon pass on, Forth from all we loved and knew Gone? II. Friend of […]...
- I'm sorry for the Dead Today I’m sorry for the Dead Today It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences It’s time o’ year for Hay. And Broad Sunburned Acquaintance Discourse between the Toil And laugh, a homely species That makes the Fences smile It seems so straight to lie away From all of the noise of Fields The Busy […]...
- If I may have it, when it's dead If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented so If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me Until they lock it in the Grave, ‘Tis Bliss I cannot weigh For tho’ they lock Thee in the Grave, Myself can own the key Think of it Lover! I […]...
- Trudging to Eden, looking backward Trudging to Eden, looking backward, I met Somebody’s little Boy Asked him his name He lisped me “Trotwood” Lady, did He belong to thee? Would it comfort to know I met him And that He didn’t look afraid? I couldn’t weep for so many smiling New Acquaintance this Baby made...
- My Dead Dream HAVE YOU found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven eons ago You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow. Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep? Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands […]...
- Bluenote Time in the soft jazz and midnight hour Your eyes are dancing close to mine A sway of hips, a touch of lips While on the stand Piano player’s fingers Dance around the tune Above a gentle touch Caressing music from the bass Your fingers up and down my spine In the soft jazz and midnight […]...
- You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over; You hearken to the lover’s say, And happy is the lover. ‘Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never; I shall have lived a little while Before I die for ever....
- The Truth the Dead Know For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959 And my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959 Gone, I say and walk from church, Refusing the stiff procession to the grave, Letting the dead ride alone in the hearse. It is June. I am tired of being brave. We drive to the Cape. I […]...
- For A Gentleman, Who, Kissinge His Friend At His Departure Left A Signe Of Blood On Her What mystery was this; that I should finde My blood in kissing you to stay behinde? ‘Twas not for want of color that requirde My blood for paynt: No dye could be desirde On that fayre silke, where scarlett were a spott And where the juice of lillies but a blotte. ‘Twas not the signe […]...
- Sonnet 28 – My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee to-night. This said,-he wished to have me in his sight Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring To come and touch […]...
- Thinking Of A Friend At Night In this evil year, autumn comes early… I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind on my hat…And you? And you, my friend? You are standing maybe and seeing the sickle moon Move in a small arc over the forests And bivouac fire, red in the black valley. You are […]...
- The Masked Face I found me in a great surging space, At either end a door, And I said: “What is this giddying place, With no firm-fixéd floor, That I knew not of before?” “It is Life,” said a mask-clad face. I asked: “But how do I come here, Who never wished to come; Can the light and […]...
- Memoriam A. H. H.: 44. How fares it with the happy dead? How fares it with the happy dead? For here the man is more and more; But he forgets the days before God shut the doorways of his head. The days have vanish’d, tone and tint, And yet perhaps the hoarding sense Gives out at times (he knows not whence) A little flash, a mystic hint; […]...
- To a Friend Go, then, and join the murmuring city’s throng! Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears; To busy phantasies, and boding fears, Lest ill betide thee; but ‘t will not be long Ere the hard season shall be past; till then Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade Remembering, and these trees now left to fade; […]...
- The Blind And The Dead She lay like a saint on her copper couch; Like an angel asleep she lay, In the stare of the ghoulish folks that slouch Past the Dead and sneak away. Then came old Jules of the sightless gaze, Who begged in the streets for bread. Each day he had come for a year of days, […]...
- To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Now all the truth is out, Be secret and take defeat From any brazen throat, For how can you compete, Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbours’ eyes? Bred to a harder thing Than Triumph, turn away And like a laughing […]...
- A Friend Sends Her Perfumed Carriage A friend sends her perfumed carriage And high-bred horses to fetch me. I decline the invitation of My old poetry and wine companion. I remember the happy days in the lost capital. We took our ease in the woman’s quarters. The Feast of Lanterns was elaborately celebrated – Folded pendants, emerald hairpins, brocaded girdles, New […]...
- My friend attacks my friend! My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist! How martial is this place! Had I a mighty gun I think I’d shoot the human race And then to glory run!...
- To A Friend Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen men-and The baby hard to find a father for! What will the good Father in Heaven say To the local judge if he do not solve this problem? A little two-pointed smile and-pouff!- The law is changed into a mouthful of phrases....
- The Friend We sat across the table. He said, cut off your hands. They are always poking at things. They might touch me. I said yes. Food grew cold on the table. He said, burn your body. It is not clean and smells like sex. It rubs my mind sore. I said yes. I love you, I […]...
- With Penne, Inke, And Paper To A Distressed Friend Here is paper, pen, and inke, That your heart and seale may sinke Into such markes as may expresse A Soule much blest in heavinesse. May your paper seeme as fayre As yourselfe when you appeare: May the Letters which you write Looke like black eye-lids on white. May your penne such fancies bring As […]...
- Death sets a Thing significant 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 by themselves And then ’twas put among the Dust Upon the Closet […]...
- To His Honoured and Most Ingenious Friend Mr. Charles Cotton For brave comportment, wit without offence, Words fully flowing, yet of influence: Thou art that man of men, the man alone, Worthy the public admiration: Who with thine own eyes read’st what we do write, And giv’st our numbers euphony, and weight. Tell’st when a verse springs high, how understood To be, or not born […]...
- Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
- 1914 IV: The Dead These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset, and the colours of the earth. These had seen movement, and heard music; known Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat […]...
- A Confession To A Friend In Trouble Your troubles shrink not, though I feel them less Here, far away, than when I tarried near; I even smile old smiles with listlessness Yet smiles they are, not ghastly mockeries mere. A thought too strange to house within my brain Haunting its outer precincts I discern: That I will not show zeal again to […]...
- A PARANAETICALL, OR ADVISIVE VERSETO HIS FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS Is this a life, to break thy sleep, To rise as soon as day doth peep? To tire thy patient ox or ass By noon, and let thy good days pass, Not knowing this, that Jove decrees Some mirth, t’ adulce man’s miseries? No; ’tis a life to have thine oil Without extortion from thy […]...
- If You Had A Friend If you had a friend strong, simple, true, Who knew your faults and who understood; Who believed in the very best of you, And who cared for you as a father would; Who would stick by you to the very end, Who would smile however the world might frown: I’m sure you would try to […]...
- To the Mother of a Dead Marine Your boy once touched me, yes. I knew you knew When your wet, reddened gaze drilled into me, Groped through my clothes for signs, some residue Of him-some lusciousness of mine that he Had craved, that might have driven his desire For things perilous, poisonous, out-of-bounds. Could I have been the beast he rode to […]...
- To an Online Friend May be the whole thing was a dream, Pinched myself awake this morn, To check if you are there, virtually, And felt your sudden absence online! Be sure you will always exist, In a special place in my heart, Your smile in pixels is so sweet, But, no, you are too good to be true! […]...
- E Coin Behind Your Ear Before you knew you owned it It was gone, stolen, and you were a fool. How you never felt it is the wonder, Heavy and thick, Lodged deep in your hair like a burr. You still see the smile of the magician As he turned the coin in his long fingers, Which had so disturbed […]...
- Inscriptions for a Friend's House THE HOUSE The cornerstone in Truth is laid, The guardian walls of Honour made, The roof of Faith is built above, The fire upon the hearth is Love: Though rains descend and loud winds call, This happy house shall never fall. THE DOORSTEAD The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: The threshold […]...
- The House Of Dust: Part 03: 06: Portrait Of One Dead This is the house. On one side there is darkness, On one side there is light. Into the darkness you may lift your lanterns- O, any number-it will still be night. And here are echoing stairs to lead you downward To long sonorous halls. And here is spring forever at these windows, With roses on […]...
- Not Dead Walking through trees to cool my heat and pain, I know that David’s with me here again. All that is simple, happy, strong, he is. Caressingly I stroke Rough bark of the friendly oak. A brook goes bubbling by: the voice is his. Turf burns with pleasant smoke; I laugh at chaffinch and at primroses. […]...
- Chamfort THERE’S Chamfort. He’s a sample. Locked himself in his library with a gun, Shot off his nose and shot out his right eye. And this Chamfort knew how to write And thousands read his books on how to live, But he himself didn’t know How to die by force of his own hand see? They […]...
- HIS AGE:DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKES, UNDER THE NAME OFPOSTUMUS Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle from the brow; But we must on, As fate does lead or draw us; none, None, Posthumus, could e’er decline The doom of cruel Proserpine. The pleasing wife, the house, the ground Must all be […]...
- The Frost Spirit He comes, – he comes, – the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields And the brown hill’s withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees Where their pleasant green came forth, And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, Have […]...
- Yes, the Dead Speak to Us YES, the Dead speak to us. This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here And when two living men fall out, when one says the Dead spoke a Yes, and the […]...
- To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wintgs on, Testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade, And think of that first flawless moment over the lawn Of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made! There below are the trees, as awkward as camels; And here are the shocked starlings pumping past And think of […]...
- I Came to buy a smile today I Came to buy a smile today But just a single smile The smallest one upon your face Will suit me just as well The one that no one else would miss It shone so very small I’m pleading at the “counter” sir Could you afford to sell I’ve Diamonds on my fingers You know […]...