Daily Dickinson » Podcasts

PARTING.

Michael Hartford — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 12:00:04 +0000

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

A SYLLABLE.

Michael Hartford — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 12:00:18 +0000

Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
‘T would crumble with the weight.

If the foolish call them ‘flowers’

Michael Hartford — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 12:00:03 +0000

If the foolish call them ‘flowers,’
Need the wiser tell?
If the savans ‘classify’ them,
It is just as well!

Those who read the Revelations
Must not criticise
Those who read the same edition
With beclouded eyes!

Could we stand with that old Moses
Canaan denied, –
Scan, like him, the stately landscape
On the other side, –

Doubtless we should deem superfluous
Many sciences
Not pursued by learnèd angels
In scholastic skies!

Low amid that glad _Belles lettres_
Grant that we may stand,
Stars, amid profound Galaxies,
At that grand ‘Right hand’!

How still the bells in steeples stand

Michael Hartford — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 12:00:24 +0000

How still the bells in steeples stand,
Till, swollen with the sky,
They leap upon their silver feet
In frantic melody!

Drowning is not so pitiful

Michael Hartford — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 12:00:02 +0000

Drowning is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise.
Three times, ‘t is said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode
Where hope and he part company, –
For he is grasped of God.
The Maker’s cordial visage,
However good to see,
Is shunned, we must admit it,
Like an adversity.

LIFE’S TRADES.

Michael Hartford — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 12:00:26 +0000

It’s such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
We men and women die!

To venerate the simple days

Michael Hartford — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 12:00:23 +0000

To venerate the simple days
Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
That from you or me
They may take the trifle
Termed mortality!

To invest existence with a stately air,
Needs but to remember
That the acorn there
Is the egg of forests
For the upper air!

A WORD.

Michael Hartford — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 12:00:47 +0000

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT. (II.)

Michael Hartford — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 12:00:31 +0000

Heaven is what I cannot reach!
The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
That ‘heaven’ is, to me.

The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, –
There Paradise is found!

FORBIDDEN FRUIT. (I.)

Michael Hartford — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 12:00:25 +0000

Forbidden fruit a flavor has
That lawful orchards mocks;
How luscious lies the pea within
The pod that Duty locks!