themadmaiden: (Default)
Katie ([personal profile] themadmaiden) wrote2016-12-15 09:21 pm
Entry tags:

Emily Dickinson Poetry

Emily Dickinson

260
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!

----------
339
I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true -
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate a Throe -

The eyes glaze once - and that is Death -
Impossible to feign
The Beads open the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung

---------
340
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 -

-----
423
The first Day's Night had come -
And grateful that a thing
So terrible - had been endured -
I told my Soul to sing -

She said her strings were snapt -
Her Bow - to atoms blown -
And so to mend her - gave me work
Until another Morn -

And then - a Day as huge
as Yesterdays in pairs,
Unrolled it's horror in my face -
Until it blocked my eyes -

My Brain - begun to laugh -
I mumbled - like a fool -
And tho' 'tis Years ago - that Day
My Brain keeps giggling - Still

And Something's odd - within -
That person that I was -
And this One - do not feel the same -
Could it be Madness - this?

----------
473
I was the slightest in the House -
I took the smallest Room -
At night, my little Lamp and Book -
And one Geranium -

So stationed I could catch the mint
That never ceased to fall -
And just my Basket -
Let me think - I'm sure
That this was all -

I never spoke - unless addressed -
And then, 'twas brief and low' -
I could not bear to live - aloud -
The Racket shamed me so -

And if it had not been so far -
And any one I knew
Were going - I had often thought
How noteless - I could die -

------
519
This is my 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

------
550
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 -

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

To note the fashions - of the Cross -
And how they're mostly worn -
Still fascinated to presume
That Some - are like my own

---
552
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain -
'Tis Pain's Successor - When the Soul
Has suffered all it can -

A Drowsiness - diffuses -
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelopes Consciousness -
As Mists - obliterate a Crag

The Surgeon - does not blanch - at pain
His Habit - is severe -
But tell him that it ceased to feel -
The Creature lying there -

And he will tell you - Skill is late -
A Mightier than He -
Has ministered before Him -
There's no Vitality

----
643
A Secret told -
Ceases to be a Secret - then -
A Secret - kept -
That - can appall but One -

Better of it - continual be afraid -
Then it -
And Whom you told it to - beside -

----
760
Pain - has an Element of Black -
It cannot recollect
When it begun - Or if there were
A time when it was not -

It has no Future - but itself -
It's Infinite contain
It's Past - enlightened to perceive
New Periods - Of Pain

---
833
Pain - expands the Time -
Ages coil within
The minute Circumference
Of a single Brain -

Pain contracts - the Time -
Occupied with Shot
Gammuts of Eternities
Are as they were not -

------
896
Purple - is fashionable twice -
This season of the year,
And when a soul perceives itself
To be an Emperor

-----
1056
Could I but ride indefinite
As dothe the Meadow Bee
And visit only where I liked
And no one visit me

And flirt all Day with Buttercups
And marry whom I may
And dwell a little everywhere
Or better, run away

With no Police to follow
Or chase Him if He do
Till He should jump Peninsulas
To get away from me-

I said "But just to be a Bee"
Open a Raft of Air
And row in Nowhere all Day long
And anchor "off the Bar"

What Liberty! So captives deem
Who tight in Dungeons are.

----
1080
How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom

Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.

-----
1286
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 the Human Soul -

------
1317
While we were fearing it, it came -
But came with less of fear
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it fair -

There is a Fitting - a Dismay -
A Fitting - A Despair -
'Tis harder knowing it is Due
Then knowing it is Here

The Trying on the Utmost
The Morning it is New
Is terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through -


-----

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—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.

Post a comment in response:

From:
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.