The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune —
Because I grow — where Robins do —
But, were I Cuckoo born —
I’d swear by him —
The ode familiar — rules the Noon —
The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom —
Because, we’re Orchard sprung —
But, were I Britain born,
I’d Daisies spurn —
None but the Nut — October fit —
Because, through dropping it,
The Seasons flit — I’m taught —
Without the Snow’s Tableau
Winter, were lie — to me —
Because I see — New Englandly —
The Queen, discerns like me —
Provincially —
You are currently browsing articles tagged winter.
Tags: bloom, born, britain, buttercup, criterion, cuckoo, daisies, discerns, dropping, familiar, flit, grow, lie, new englandly, noon, nut, october, ode, orchard, provincially, queen, robin, robins, rules, seasons, snow, sprung, spurn, swear, tableau, taught, tune, whim, winter
If I could bribe them by a Rose
I’d bring them every flower that grows
From Amherst to Cashmere!
I would not stop for night, or storm –
Or frost, or death, or anyone –
My business were so dear!
If they would linger for a Bird
My Tambourin were soonest heard
Among the April Woods!
Unwearied, all the summer long,
Only to break in wilder song
When Winter shook the boughs!
What if they hear me!
Who shall say
That such an importunity
May not at last avail?
That, weary of this Beggar’s face –
They may not finally say, Yes –
To drive her from the Hall?
Tags: amherst, april, avail, beggar, bird, boughs, break, bribe, business, cashmere, dear, death, face, flower, frost, grows, hall, hear, importunity, linger, long, night, rose, song, stop, storm, summer, tambourin, unwearied, wilder, winter, woods
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
A science — so the Savants say,
“Comparative Anatomy” –
By which a single bone –
Is made a secret to unfold
Of some rare tenant of the mold,
Else perished in the stone –
So to the eye prospective led,
This meekest flower of the mead
Upon a winter’s day,
Stands representative in gold
Of Rose and Lily, manifold,
And countless Butterfly!
Tags: anatomy, bone, butterfly, comparative, flower, lily, rose, savants, science, secret, stone, unflod, winter
If pain for peace prepares
Lo, what “Augustan” years
Our feet await!
If springs from winter rise,
Can the Anemones
Be reckoned up?
If night stands fast — then noon
To gird us for the sun,
What gaze!
When from a thousand skies
On our developed eyes
Noons blaze!
Some, too fragile for winter winds,
The thoughtful grave encloses, –
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.
Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look
And sportsman is not bold.
This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold, –
Sparrows unnoticed by the Father;
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.
On December 10th, the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, celebrates Dickinson’s 177th birthday with a reading and discussion hosted by Richard Howard, poetry editor of the Paris Review and winner of the 1970 Pulitzer Prize for poetry for “Untitled Subjects”.
In addition to readings of Dickinson’s work and the discussion of Dickinson’s phenomenal output of 1862–more than 200 poems were produced that year (see Emily Dickinson Revisited: A Study of Periodicity in Her Work by John F. McDermott, M.D. for some interesting charts and graphs…)–the Folger will serve black cake made according to Dickinson’s recipe (more on the pounds of fruit and pints of brandy required here).
Now would be a good time, too, to note that Emily Dickinson: The Poet Lights the Lamp, a one-woman play written and performed by Yvonne Hudson, will be staged at St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church in Washington, DC, on December 5. It’s a grand old time for Dickinson in Foggy Bottom this winter!
Keeping Up with Emily
