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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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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Unto like Story — Trouble has enticed me –
How Kinsmen fell –
Brothers and Sister — who preferred the Glory –
And their young will
Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons — chanted –
Till God’s full time –
When they let go the ignominy — smiling –
And Shame went still –
Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,
Worn fair
By Heads rejected — in the lower country –
Of honors there –
Such spirit makes her perpetual mention,
That I — grown bold –
Step martial — at my Crucifixion –
As Trumpets — rolled –
Feet, small as mine — have marched in Revolution
Firm to the Drum –
Hands — not so stout — hoisted them — in witness –
When Speech went numb –
Let me not shame their sublime deportments –
Drilled bright –
Beckoning — Etruscan invitation –
Toward Light –
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How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand,
Until a sudden sky
Reveals the fact that One is rapt
Forever from the Eye —
Members of the Invisible,
Existing, while we stare,
In Leagueless Opportunity,
O’ertakenless, as the Air —
Why didn’t we detain Them?
The Heavens with a smile,
Sweep by our disappointed Heads
Without a syllable —
Tags: air, detain, disappointed, Existing, eye, fact, forever, heads, Heavens, Invisible, leagueless, Members, men, noteless, O'ertakenless, one, Opportunity, Pleiads, rapt, Reveals, sky, smile, stand, stare, sudden, sweep, syllable
When we stand on the tops of Things –
And like the Trees, look down –
The smoke all cleared away from it –
And Mirrors on the scene –
Just laying light — no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw –
The Sound ones, like the Hills — shall stand –
No Lighting, scares away –
The Perfect, nowhere be afraid –
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds –
The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World –
And Suns, go surer, for their Proof,
As if an Axle, held –
Tags: afraid, away, axle, bear, care, cleared, dare, dauntless, deeds, down, flaw, heads, held, hills, laying, light, lightning, look, mirrors, noon, nowhere, occasionally, perfect, proof, protected, scares, scene, shine, smoke, soul, sound, spotted, stand, star, stars, sun, suns, surer, things, tops, tree, trees, upon, wink, world
I cautious, scanned my little life –
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till Heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.
I put the latter in a Barn –
The former, blew away.
I went one winter morning
And lo – my priceless Hay
Was not upon the “Scaffold” –
Was not upon the “Beam” –
And from a thriving Farmer –
A Cynic, I became.
Whether a Thief did it –
Whether it was the wind –
Whether Deity’s guiltless –
My business is, to find!
So I begin to ransack!
How is it Hearts, with Thee?
Art thou within the little Barn
Love provided Thee?
Tags: barn, beam, business, cautious, cynic, deity, dreaming, fade, farmer, hay, heads, heart's, laid, little.life, Love, morning, ransack, scaffold, scanned, thief, wind, winnowed, winter
Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled –
And no one made reply.
Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again –
Whose are the beds — the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?
‘Tis Daisy, in the shortest –
A little further on –
Nearest the door — to wake the Ist –
Little Leontoden.
‘Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster –
Anemone, and Bell –
Bartsia, in the blanket red –
And chubby Daffodil.
Meanwhile, at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied –
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.
Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids –
Rhodora’s cheek is crimson,
She’s dreaming of the woods!
Then turning from them reverent –
Their bedtime ’tis, she said –
The Bumble bees will wake them
When April woods are red.
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