Tag Archives: drop

We do not play on Graves —

We do not play on Graves
We do not play on Graves —
Because there isn’t Room —
Besides — it isn’t even — it slants
And People come —

And put a Flower on it —
And hang their faces so —
We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop —
And crush our pretty play —

And so we move as far
As Enemies — away —
Just looking round to see how far
It is — Occasionally —

It would never be Common — more — I said –

It would never be Common -- more -- I said --It would never be Common — more — I said —
Difference — had begun —
Many a bitterness — had been —
But that old sort — was done —

Or — if it sometime — showed — as ’twill —
Upon the Downiest — Morn —
Such bliss — had I — for all the years —
‘Twould give an Easier — pain —

I’d so much joy — I told it — Red —
Upon my simple Cheek —
I felt it publish — in my Eye —
‘Twas needless — any speak —

I walked — as wings — my body bore —
The feet — I former used —
Unnecessary — now to me —
As boots — would be — to Birds —

I put my pleasure all abroad —
I dealth a word of Gold
To every Creature — that I met —
And Dowered — all the World —

When — suddenly — my Riches shrank —
A Goblin — drank my Dew —
My Palaces — dropped tenantless —
Myself — was beggared — too —

I clutched at sounds —
I groped at shapes —
I touched the tops of Films —
I felt the Wilderness roll back
Along my Golden lines —

The Sackcloth — hangs upon the nail —
The Frock I used to wear —
But where my moment of Brocade —
My — drop — of India?

There are two Ripenings — one — of sight –

There are two Ripenings -- one -- of sight --There are two Ripenings — one — of sight —
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground —
A homelier maturing —
A process in the Bur —
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.

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Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life —
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 freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was — that she might —
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise —
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire’s Eyes —
Winnow her finest fondness —
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake —
Oh, Caviler, for you!

the saddest museum in America

Jane writes of her visit to the two Dickinson homes, The Evergreens and The Homestead:

While The Homestead is decidedly ghost free, The Evergreens is not. … Today, the house is in a serious state of dilapidation, yet it retains most of the original contents. While dusty and seriously frayed, the chair Emerson is said to have occupied in the parlor looks as if he could emerge from another room and sit down once again to engage in conversation about the lecture he completed at Amherst College a mere 142 years ago. Yet, the house is eerie. When entering the dining room where Susan Dickinson entertained her guests, there is a noticeable drop in temperature (even in the summer). A chill hangs in the air over the table which looks as though it is set for a spectral dinner party.

I can’t think of a better recommendation for a museum visit than this:

The Evergreens is the saddest museum in America. If there are such things as ghosts, they surely walk at The Evergreens.