A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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Smiling back from Coronation
May be Luxury –
On the Heads that started with us –
Being’s Peasantry –
Recognizing in Procession
Ones We former knew –
When Ourselves were also dusty –
Centuries ago –
Had the Triumph no Conviction
Of how many be –
Stimulated — by the Contrast –
Unto Misery –
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I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched –
I felt the Columns close –
The Earth reversed her Hemispheres –
I touched the Universe –
And back it slid — and I alone –
A Speck upon a Ball –
Went out upon Circumference –
Beyond the Dip of Bell –
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A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis –
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 thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind –
The Literature of Man –
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 born –
His presence is Enchantment –
You beg him not to go –
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize — just so –
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I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there –
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler –
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner’s name –
For doubt, that I should know the Sound –
I judged my features — jarred my hair –
I pushed my dimples by, and waited –
If they — twinkled back –
Conviction might, of me –
I told myself, “Take Courage, Friend –
That — was a former time –
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!”
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‘Twas the old — road — through pain –
That unfrequented — one –
With many a turn — and thorn –
That stops — at Heaven –
This — was the Town — she passed –
There — where she — rested — last –
Then — stepped more fast –
The little tracks — close prest –
Then — not so swift –
Slow — slow — as feet did weary — grow –
Then — stopped — no other track!
Wait! Look! Her little Book –
The leaf — at love — turned back –
Her very Hat –
And this worn shoe just fits the track –
Herself — though — fled!
Another bed — a short one –
Women make — tonight –
In Chambers bright –
Too out of sight — though –
For our hoarse Good Night –
To touch her Head!
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There came a Day at Summer’s full,
Entirely for me –
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections — 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 leaked,
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 –
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These are the days when Birds come back –
A very few — a Bird or two –
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old — old sophistries of June –
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee –
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear –
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze –
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake –
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
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