A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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Just so — Jesus — raps –
He — doesn’t weary –
Last — at the Knocker –
And first — at the Bell.
Then — on divinest tiptoe — standing –
Might He but spy the lady’s soul –
When He — retires –
Chilled — or weary –
It will be ample time for — me –
Patient — upon the steps — until then –
Hears! I am knocking — low at thee.
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You see I cannot see — your lifetime –
I must guess –
How many times it ache for me — today — Confess –
How many times for my far sake
The brave eyes film –
But I guess guessing hurts –
Mine — got so dim!
Too vague — the face –
My own — so patient — covers –
Too far — the strength –
My timidness enfolds –
Haunting the Heart –
Like her translated faces –
Teasing the want –
It — only — can suffice!
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To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore –
Haunted by native lands, the while –
And blue — beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices — trained — below –
Ascend in ceaseless Carol –
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
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She bore it till the simple veins
Traced azure on her hand –
Til pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.
Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it –
And with the Saints sat down.
No more her patient figure
At twilight soft to meet –
No more her timid bonnet
Upon the village street –
But Crowns instead, and Courtiers –
And in the midst so fair,
Whose but her shy — immortal face
Of whom we’re whispering here?
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