Emily-Dickinson-image.jpg

Emily Dickinson
Selected Poems

 
 


Success is counted sweetest (112)


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
Burst agonized and clear.

I'm nobody! Who are you? (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!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers (314)

“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.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain (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 –

There’s a certain Slant of light (320)

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –

None may teach it – Any –
’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, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –

Wild Nights – Wild Nights! (269)

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!
Might I but moor – Tonight –
In Thee!

This is my letter to the World (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

I dwell in Possibility (466)

I dwell in Possibility–
A fairer House than Prose–
More numerous of Windows–
Superior– for Doors–

Of Chambers as the Cedars–
Impregnable of Eye–
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky–

Of Visitors– the fairest–
For Occupation– This–
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise–

I heard a Fly buzz– when I died (591)

I heard a Fly buzz– when I died–
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm–

The Eyes around– had wrung them dry–
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset– when the King
Be witnessed– in the Room–

I willed my Keepsakes– Signed away
What portions of me be
Assignable– and then it was
There interposed a Fly–

With Blue– uncertain– stumbling Buzz–
Between the light– and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see–

It was not Death, for I stood up (355)

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.

Before I got my eye put out (336)

Before I got my eye put out–
I liked as well to see
As other creatures, that have eyes–
And know no other way–

But were it told to me, Today,
That I might have the Sky
For mine, I tell you that my Heart
Would split, for size of me–

The Meadows– mine –
The Mountains– mine –
All Forests– Stintless stars–
As much of noon, as I could take–
Between my finite eyes–

The Motions of the Dipping Birds–
The Morning’s Amber Road–
For mine– to look at when I liked,
The news would strike me dead–

So safer– guess– with just my soul
Opon the window pane
Where other creatures put their eye –
Incautious– of the Sun–

After great pain, a formal feeling comes (372)

After great pain, a formal feeling comes–
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs–
The stiff Heart questions "was it He, that bore,
And "Yesterday, or Centuries before"?

The Feet, mechanical, go round–
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought–
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone–

This is the Hour of Lead–
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the snow–
First– Chill– then stupor– then the letting go–

Because I could not stop for Death (479)

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 strove
At Recess– in the Ring–
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain–
We passed the Setting Sun–

Or rather– He passed Us–
The Dews drew quivering and Chill–
For only Gossamer, my Gown–
My Tippet– only Tulle–

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground–
The Roof was scarcely visible–
The Cornice– in the Ground–

Since then– 'tis Centuries– and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity–

My Life has stood– a Loaded Gun (764)

My Life had stood– a Loaded Gun
In Corners– till a Day
The Owner passed– identified
And carried Me away

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods
And now We hunt the Doe
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply

And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through

And when at Night– Our good Day done
I guard My Master's Head
'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow– to have shared

To foe of His– I'm deadly foe
None stir the second time
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye
Or an emphatic Thumb

Though I than He– may longer live
He longer must– than I
For I have but the power to kill
Without–the power to die

Tell all the truth but tell it slant (1263)

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 every man be blind–

I died for beauty, but was scarce (448)

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.