EmilyDickinsonCompleteWorks2.txt

XXI.

THE FIRST LESSON.

Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me.


And yet, my primer suits me so
I would not choose a book to know
Than that, be sweeter wise;
Might some one else so learned be,
And leave me just my A B C,
Himself could have the skies.


XXII.


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.


XXIII.


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 heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
But what of that?


XXIV.


Afraid?  Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.


Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.


Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!


XXV.


DYING.


The sun kept setting, setting still;
No hue of afternoon
Upon the village I perceived, --
From house to house 't was noon.


The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face.


My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?


How well I knew the light before!
I could not see it now.
'T is dying, I am doing; but
I'm not afraid to know.


XXVI.


Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one  turned smiling to the land.
O God, the other one!


The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands beseeching thrown.


XXVII.


THE CHARIOT.


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 labor, 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 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.


XXVIII.


She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not  like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!


She dropt as softly as a star
From  out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!


XXIX.


RESURGAM.


At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our  feet and day!


XXX.


Except to heaven, she is nought;
Except for angels, lone;
Except to some wide-wandering bee,
A flower superfluous blown;


Except for winds, provincial;
 Except by butterflies,
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the acre lies.


The smallest housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made  existence home!


XXXI.


Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,
I have another trust."


Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.


XXXII.


It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.


How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!


XXXIII.


ALONG THE POTOMAC.


When I was small, a woman died.
To-day her  only boy
Went up from the Potomac,
His  face all victory,


To look at her; how slowly
 The seasons must have turned
Till  bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round!


If pride shall be in Paradise
I  never can decide;
Of their  imperial conduct,
No person testified.


But  proud in apparition,
That woman and her boy
 Pass back and forth before my brain,
As ever in the sky.


XXXIV.


The daisy  follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
   Sits  shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?"
   "Because, sir, love is sweet!"


We are  the flower, Thou the sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline,
   We  nearer steal to Thee, --
Enamoured of the parting west,
The  peace, the flight, the amethyst,
   Night's possibility!


XXXV.


EMANCIPATION.


No rack  can torture me,
My soul's at liberty
 Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one


You cannot prick with saw,
Nor  rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind  one, and one will flee.


The eagle of his nest
No  easier divest
And gain  the sky,
Than mayest thou,


Except thyself  may be
Thine  enemy;
Captivity is consciousness,
So's liberty.


XXXVI.


 LOST.


I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You'll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.


 A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
 Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh,  find it, sir, for me!


XXXVII.


If I shouldn't be alive
When  the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
A  memorial crumb.


If I couldn't thank you,
Being  just asleep,
You  will know I'm trying
With my  granite lip!


XXXVIII.

Sleep is supposed to be,
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the  eye.


Sleep is the station grand
Down which on either hand
The hosts o f witness stand!


Morn is supposed to be,
By people of degree,
The  breaking of the day.


Morning has not occurred!
That  shall aurora be
East of eternity;


One wit h the banner gay,
One in the red array, --
That is  the break of day.


XXXIX.


I shall know why, when time is over,
 And I have ceased to wonder why;
 Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.


He will tell me what Peter promised,
 And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
 That scalds me now, that scalds me now.


XL.

I never lost as much but twice,
 And that was in the sod;
Twice have I stood a beggar
 Before the door of God!


Angels, twice descending,
 Reimbursed my store.
Burglar, banker, father,
 I am poor once more!


I.


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!


II.


I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink.


Crackling with fever, they essay;
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.


The hands still hug the tardy glass;
The lips I would have cooled, alas!
Are so superfluous cold,


I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.


Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak.


And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake, --


If, haply, any say to me,
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.


III.


The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
      The heaven we chase
      Like the June bee
      Before the school-boy
      Invites the race;
      Stoops to an easy clover --
Dips -- evades -- teases -- deploys;
      Then to the royal clouds
      Lifts his light pinnace
      Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.


      Homesick for steadfast honey,
      Ah! the bee flies not
That brews that rare variety.

IV.


We play at paste,
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar,
And our new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practising sands.


V.

I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun


To races nurtured in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
Can blaze be done in cochineal,
Or noon in mazarin?


VI.


HOPE.


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


VII.


THE WHITE HEAT.


Dare you see a soul at the white heat?
   Then crouch within the door.
Red is the fire's common tint;
   But when the vivid ore


Has sated flame's conditions,
   Its quivering substance plays
Without a color but the light
   Of unanointed blaze.


Least village boasts its blacksmith,
   Whose anvil's even din
Stands symbol for the finer forge
   That soundless tugs within,


Refining these impatient ores
   With hammer and with blaze,
Until the designated light
   Repudiate the forge.


VIII.


TRIUMPHANT.


Who never lost, are unprepared
A coronet to find;
Who never thirsted, flagons
And cooling tamarind.


Who never climbed the weary league --
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro's shore?


How many legions overcome?
The emperor will say.
How many colors taken
On Revolution Day?


How many bullets bearest?
The royal scar hast thou?
Angels, write "Promoted"
On this soldier's brow!


IX.


THE TEST.


I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it, --
I 'm used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip -- drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
'T was the new liquor, --
That was all!



Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they 'll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh, --
They 'll carry him!


X.


ESCAPE.


I never hear the word "escape"
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.


I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars, --
Only to fail again!