EmilyDickinsonCompleteWorks3.txt

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!



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 to-day

Can  tell the definition,
So  clear, of victory,

As he, defeated,  dying,
On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!


Our share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,

Our blank in bliss to fill,
Our blank in scorning.



Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way.

Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards -- day!



ROUGE ET NOIR.

Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.


Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul.


ROUGE GAGNE.



'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!

And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw;
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
This side the victory!


Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!

And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat,

No drearier can prevail!



And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the steeples be,

At first repeat it slow!
For heaven is a different thing

Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
And might o'erwhelm me so!




Glee! The great storm is over!
Four have recovered the land;

Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.


Ring, for the scant salvation!
Toll, for the bonnie souls, --

Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the shoals!


How they will tell the shipwreck
When winter shakes the door,

Till the children ask, "But the forty?
Did they come back no more?"



Then a silence suffuses the story,
And a softness the teller's eye;

And the children no further question,
And only the waves reply.


If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.


ALMOST!


Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!

Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!

So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,

Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.



A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;

'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.


The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs;

A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!



Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautions arm,

Lest anybody spy the blood
And "You're hurt" exclaim!



The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;

And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;



And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be

The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.


IN A LIBRARY.



A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,

In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,



His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,

A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.



His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold

On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;


What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran

When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;


When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,


He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.


His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.


Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.

'T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.

Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, -- you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.


I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.

I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.


Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:

"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?"


EXCLUSION.

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;

On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.


Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;

Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.


I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;

Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

THE SECRET.



Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.



Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.


There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!




THE LONELY HOUSE.

I know some lonely houses off the road
A robber 'd like the look of, --

Wooden barred,
And windows hanging low,

Inviting to
A portico,
Where two could creep:

One hand the tools,
The other peep

To make sure all's asleep.
Old-fashioned eyes,
Not easy to surprise!




How orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,
With just a clock, --
But they could gag the tick,

And mice won't bark;
And so the walls don't tell,
None will.


A pair of spectacles ajar just stir --
An almanac's aware.

Was it the mat winked,
Or a nervous star?

The moon slides down the stair
To see who's there.



There's plunder, -- where?
Tankard, or spoon,

Earring, or stone,
A watch, some ancient brooch
To match the grandmamma,
Staid sleeping there.




Day rattles, too,
Stealth's slow;

The sun has got as far
As the third sycamore.

Screams chanticleer,
"Who's there?"
And echoes, trains away,

Sneer -- "Where?"
While the old couple, just astir,
Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar!


To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,

Who charge within the bosom,
The cavalry of woe.



Who win, and nations do not see,
Who fall, and none observe,

Whose dying eyes no country
Regards with patriot love.


We trust, in plumed procession,
For such the angels go,
Rank after rank, with even feet
And uniforms of snow.


DAWN.



When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair



And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care

For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour.



THE BOOK OF MARTYRS.



Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;

What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;

How many times they bore
The faithful witness,

Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared!




Read then of faith
That shone above the fagot;

Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown;

Brave names of men
And celestial women,

Passed out of record
Into renown!


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN.

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect

When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.


It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.


I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;

Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!


Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,

Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.


When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,

When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!


Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,

To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!

A BOOK.


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 of wings

Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!


I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,

And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.


Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,

The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.

UNRETURNING.

'T was such a little, little boat
That toddled down the bay!

'T was such a gallant, gallant sea
That beckoned it away!


'T was such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the coast;

Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!


Whether my bark went down at sea,
Whether she met with gales,

Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails;


By what mystic mooring
She is held to-day, --

This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the bay.


Belshazzar had a letter, --
He never had but one;

Belshazzar's correspondent
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy

The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.


XXVI.



The brain within its groove
Runs evenly and true;

But let a splinter swerve,
'T were easier for you
To put the water back

When floods have slit the hills,
And scooped a turnpike for themselves,
And blotted out the mills!



II. LOVE.


I.


MINE.


Mine by the right of the white election!
Mine by the royal seal!
Mine by the sign in the scarlet prison
Bars cannot conceal!



Mine, here in vision and in veto!
Mine, by the grave's repeal

Titled, confirmed, -- delirious charter!
Mine, while the ages steal!



II.



BEQUEST.



You left me, sweet, two legacies, --
A legacy of love

A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;



You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,

Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.



III.


Alter? When the hills do.
Falter? When the sun

Question if his glory
Be the perfect one.



Surfeit? When the daffodil
Doth of the dew:

Even as herself, O friend!
I will of you!


IV.


SUSPENSE.


Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room,

If in that room a friend await
Felicity or doom.


What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure

The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door!



V.



SURRENDER.




Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love

Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,

What more the woman can, --
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!



It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;

I ceded all of dust I knew, --
What opulence the more

Had I, a humble maiden,
Whose farthest of degree

Was that she might,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!



VI.



If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by

With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.


If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,

And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,

Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.


But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.



VII.


WITH A FLOWER.



I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.


I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.




VIII.




PROOF.




That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.




That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.




This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.




IX.




Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?




And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.




Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.




And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!




X.




TRANSPLANTED.




As if some little Arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in --
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!




XI.




THE OUTLET.


My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?


My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!




I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks, --




Say, sea,
Take me!




XII.




IN VAIN.




I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf




The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup




Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sevres pleases,
Old ones crack.




I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other's gaze down, --
You could not.




And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death's privilege?




Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus',
That new grace




Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.




They'd judge us -- how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Or sought to;
I could not,




Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.




And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.




And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.




So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!




XIII.




RENUNCIATION.




There came a day at summer's full
Entirely for me;
I thought that such were for the saints,
Where revelations be.




The sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new.




The time was scarce profaned by speech;
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at sacrament
The wardrobe of our Lord.




Each was to each the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this time,
Lest we too awkward show
At supper of the Lamb.




The hours slid fast, as hours will,
Clutched tight by greedy hands;
So faces on two decks look back,
Bound to opposing lands.




And so, when all the time had failed,
Without external sound,
Each bound the other's crucifix,
We gave no other bond.




Sufficient troth that we shall rise --
Deposed, at length, the grave --
To that new marriage, justified
Through Calvaries of Love!


XIV.




LOVE'S BAPTISM.




I'm ceded, I've stopped being theirs;
The name they dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church,
Is finished using now,
And they can put it with my dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools
I've finished threading too.




Baptized before without the choice,
But this time consciously, of grace
Unto supremest name,
Called to my full, the crescent dropped,
Existence's whole arc filled up
With one small diadem.




My second rank, too small the first,
Crowned, crowing on my father's breast,
A half unconscious queen;
But this time, adequate, erect,
With will to choose or to reject.
And I choose -- just a throne.


XV.




RESURRECTION.




'T was a long parting, but the time
For interview had come;
Before the judgment-seat of God,
The last and second time




These fleshless lovers met,
A heaven in a gaze,
A heaven of heavens, the privilege
Of one another's eyes.




No lifetime set on them,
Apparelled as the new
Unborn, except they had beheld,
Born everlasting now.




Was bridal e'er like this?
A paradise, the host,
And cherubim and seraphim
The most familiar guest.




XVI.




APOCALYPSE.




I'm wife; I've finished that,
That other state;
I'm Czar, I'm woman now:
It's safer so.

How odd the girl's life looks
Behind this soft eclipse!
I think that earth seems so
To those in heaven now.

This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why compare?
I'm wife! stop there!

XVII.

THE WIFE.

She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.

If aught she missed in her new day
Of amplitude, or awe,
Or first prospective, or the gold
In using wore away,

It lay unmentioned, as the sea
Develops pearl and weed,
But only to himself is known
The fathoms they abide.

XVIII.

APOTHEOSIS.

Come slowly, Eden!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars -- enters,
And is lost in balms!