A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
‘Twas sorry, that we were –
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear –
Nor how Ourselves be justified –
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar — An Optizan
Could not decide between –
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I should have been too glad, I see –
Too lifted — for the scant degree
Of Life’s penurious Round –
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference — have blamed –
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved — I see –
Too rescued — Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect — yesterday –
That Scalding One — Sabachthani –
Recited fluent — here –
Earth would have been too much — I see –
And Heaven — not enough for me –
I should have had the Joy
Without the Fear — to justify –
The Palm — without the Calvary –
So Savior — Crucify –
Defeat — whets Victory — they say –
The Reefs — in old Gethsemane –
Endear the Coast — beyond!
‘Tis Beggars — Banquets — can define –
‘Tis Parching — vitalizes Wine –
“Faith” bleats — to understand!
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Many a phrase has the English language –
I have heard but one –
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue –
Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide’s a’ lull –
Saying itself in new inflection –
Like a Whippoorwill –
Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep –
Thundering its Prospective –
Till I stir, and weep –
Not for the Sorrow, done me –
But the push of Joy –
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush — Only to me!
Tags: breaking, bright, caspian, choirs, cricket, english, heard, hush, inflection, joy, language, laughter, loud, low, lull, murmuring, orthography, phrase, prospective, push, saxton, simple, sleep, sorrow, stir, thunder, thundering, tide, tongue, weep, wippoorwill
Forever at His side to walk –
The smaller of the two!
Brain of His Brain –
Blood of His Blood –
Two lives — One Being — now –
Forever of His fate to taste –
If grief — the largest part –
If joy — to put my piece away
For that beloved Heart –
All life — to know each other –
Whom we can never learn –
And bye and bye — a Change –
Called Heaven –
Rapt Neighborhoods of Men –
Just finding out — what puzzled us –
Without the lexicon!
Tags: away, being, beloved, blood, brain, change, fate, forver, grief, heart, heaven, his, joy, learn, lexicon, Life, lives, Love, men, neighborhoods, piece, puzzled, side, smaller, taste, two, walk
I have never seen “Volcanoes” –
But, when Travellers tell
How those old — phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still –
Bear within — appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men –
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place –
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome –
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!
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A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence –
And struts in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You’d scarce recognize him!
By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!
Tags: all, befall, bells, bliss, breath, conjectured, death, defeat, different, drearier, extinguish, fail, gain, gained, gun, heaven, hesitated, joy, Life, much, nothing, poor, poverty, repeat, sea, slow, steeples, sudden, sweet, thing, throw, ventured, victory, waked, yes
‘Tis so much joy! ‘Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so –
This side the Victory!
Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!
And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in –
And might extinguish me!
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If tolling bell I ask the cause.
‘A soul has gone to God,’
I’m answered in a lonesome tone;
Is heaven then so sad?
That bells should joyful ring to tell
A soul had gone to heaven,
Would seem to me the proper way
A good news should be given.
