A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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A little bread — a crust — a crumb –
A little trust — a demijohn –
Can keep the soul alive –
Not portly, mind! but breathing — warm –
Conscious — as old Napoleon,
The night before the Crown!
A modest lot — A fame petite –
A brief Campaign of sting and sweet
Is plenty! Is enough!
A Sailor’s business is the shore!
A Soldier’s — balls! Who asketh more,
Must seek the neighboring life!
Tags: alive, balls, bread, breathing, brief, business, campaign, conscious, crown, crumb, crust, demijohn, enough, fame, modest, napoleon, neighboring, petite, plenty, portly, sailor, seek, shore, soldier, soul, sting, sweet, trust, warm
I live with him, I see his face;
I go no more away
For visitor, or sundown;
Death’s single privacy,
The only one forestalling mine,
And that by right that he
Presents a claim invisible,
No wedlock granted me.
I live with him, I hear his voice,
I stand alive to-day
To witness to the certainty
Of immortality
Taught me by Time, — the lower way,
Conviction every day, –
That life like this is endless,
Be judgment what it may.
Tags: alive, away, death, ice, Life, may, men, see, sing, sun
If anybody’s friend be dead,
It ‘s sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive,
At such and such a time.
Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the hair, –
A prank nobody knew but them,
Lost, in the sepulchre.
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They ‘re centuries from that.
How pleased they were at what you said;
You try to touch the smile,
And dip your fingers in the frost:
When was it, can you tell,
You asked the company to tea,
Acquaintance, just a few,
And chatted close with this grand thing
That don’t remember you?
Past bows and invitations,
Past interview, and vow,
Past what ourselves can estimate, –
That makes the quick of woe!
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.
Emily Dickinson’s 177th birthday arrives next Monday, December 10 (and she looks hardly a day over 150 . . .). Celebratory events are gearing up; we’ve already mentioned the reading and discussion at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, on Monday evening.
Closer to home (at least, to Dickinson’s home), the Emily Dickinson Museum has a few events planned:
The Amherst Bulletin lists some of the many entertainments to expect at the open house, including music, crafts, and a book signing by Barbara Dana and Cindy MacKenzie. If you find yourself in Amherst on Saturday, this is a must-see event!
Tags: alive, book, december, first, house, men, music, must, nothing, poem, rose, see
If I should n’t be alive
When the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
A memorial crumb.
If I could n’t thank you,
Being just asleep,
You will know I’m trying
With my granite lip!
Tags: alive
