It was given to me by the Gods –

It was given to me by the Gods
It was given to me by the Gods —
When I was a little Girl —
They given us Presents most — you know —
When we are new — and small.
I kept it in my Hand —
I never put it down —
I did not dare to eat — or sleep —
For fear it would be gone —
I heard such words as “Rich” —
When hurrying to school —
From lips at Corners of the Streets —
And wrestled with a smile.
Rich! ‘Twas Myself — was rich —
To take the name of Gold —
And Gold to own — in solid Bars —
The Difference — made me bold –

Love — thou art high –

Love thou art high
Love — thou art high —
I cannot climb thee —
But, were it Two —
Who know but we —
Taking turns — at the Chimborazo —
Ducal — at last — stand up by thee —

Love — thou are deep —
I cannot cross thee —
But, were there Two
Instead of One —
Rower, and Yacht — some sovereign Summer —
Who knows — but we’d reach the Sun?

Love — thou are Veiled —
A few — behold thee —
Smile — and alter — and prattle — and die —
Bliss — were an Oddity — without thee —
Nicknamed by God —
Eternity –

The Malay — took the Pearl –

The Malay took the Pearl
The Malay — took the Pearl —
Not — I — the Earl —
I — feared the Sea — too much
Unsanctified — to touch —

Praying that I might be
Worthy — the Destiny —
The Swarthy fellow swam —
And bore my Jewel — Home —

Home to the Hut! What lot
Had I — the Jewel — got —
Borne on a Dusky Breasty —
I had not deemed a Vest
Of Amber — fit —

The Negro never knew
I — wooed it — too —
To gain, or be undone —
Alike to Him — One –

The Outer — from the Inner

The Outer -- from the InnerThe Outer — from the Inner
Derives its Magnitude —
‘Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according
As is the Central Mood —

The fine — unvarying Axis
That regulates the Wheel —
Though Spokes — spin — more conspicuous
And fling a dust — the while.

The Inner — paints the Outer —
The Brush without the Hand —
Its Picture publishes — precise —
As is the inner Brand —

On fine — Arterial Canvas —
A Cheek — perchance a Brow —
The Star’s whole Secret — in the Lake —
Eyes were not meant to know.

This was a Poet — It is That

This was a Poet — It is ThatThis was a Poet — It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings —
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door —
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it — before —

Of Pictures, the Discloser —
The Poet — it is He —
Entitles Us — by Contrast —
To ceaseless Poverty —

Of portion — so unconscious —
The Robbing — could not harm —
Himself — to Him — a Fortune —
Exterior — to Time —

A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.