You left me

You left me, sweet, two legacies,—  
A legacy of love  
A Heavenly Father would content,  
Had He the offer of;  
   
You left me boundaries of pain          
Capacious as the sea,  
Between eternity and time,  
Your consciousness and me.

 

If you were coming in the fall
 
If you were coming in the fall,  
I ’d brush the summer by  
With half a smile and half a spurn,  
As housewives do a fly.  
   
If I could see you in a year,          
I ’d wind the months in balls,  
And put them each in separate drawers,  
Until their time befalls.  
   
If only centuries delayed,  
I ’d count them on my hand,         
Subtracting till my fingers dropped  
Into Van Diemen’s land.  
   
If certain, when this life was out,  
That yours and mine should be,  
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,         
And taste eternity.  
   
But now, all ignorant of the length  
Of time’s uncertain wing,  
It goads me, like the goblin bee,  
That will not state its sting.          



I hide myself within my flower

I hide myself within my flower,  
   That wearing on your breast,  
You, unsuspecting, wear me too—  
And angels know the rest.  
   
I hide myself within my flower,          
That, fading from your vase,  
You, unsuspecting, feel for me  
   Almost a loneliness. 



That I did always love
 
That I did always love,  
I bring thee proof:  
That till I loved  
I did not love enough.  
   
That I shall love alway,        
I offer thee  
That love is life,  
And life hath immortality.  
   
This, dost thou doubt, sweet?  
Then have I          
Nothing to show  
But Calvary. 



Have you got a brook in your little heart

Have you got a brook in your little heart,  
Where bashful flowers blow,  
And blushing birds go down to drink,  
And shadows tremble so?  
   
And nobody, knows, so still it flows,        
That any brook is there;  
And yet your little draught of life  
Is daily drunken there.  
   
Then look out for the little brook in March,  
When the rivers overflow,          
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,  
And the bridges often go.  
   
And later, in August it may be,  
When the meadows parching lie,  
Beware, lest this little brook of life         
Some burning noon go dry! 



As if some little Arctic flower

As if some little Arctic flower,  
Upon the polar hem,  
Went wandering down the latitudes,  
Until it puzzled came  
To continents of summer,          
To firmaments of sun,  
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,  
And birds of foreign tongue!  
I say, as if this little flower  
To Eden wandered in—          
What then? Why, nothing, only  
Your inference therefrom! 



My river runs to thee

My river runs to thee:  
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?  
   
My river waits reply.  
Oh sea, look graciously!  
   
I ’ll fetch thee brooks        
From spotted nooks,—  
   
Say, sea,  
Take me! 



I cannot live with you

I cannot live with you,  
It would be life,  
And life is over there  
Behind the shelf  
   
The sexton keeps the key to,          
Putting up  
Our life, his porcelain,  
Like a cup  
   
Discarded of the housewife,  
Quaint or broken;          
A newer Sèvres pleases,  
Old ones crack.  
   
I could not die with you,  
For one must wait  
To shut the other’s gaze down,—          
You could not.  
   
And I, could I stand by  
And see you freeze,  
Without my right of frost,  
Death’s privilege?          
   
Nor could I rise with you,  
Because your face  
Would put out Jesus’,  
That new grace  
   
Glow plain and foreign          
On my homesick eye,  
Except that you, than he  
Shone closer by.  
   
They ’d judge us—how?  
For you served Heaven, you know,          
Or sought to;  
I could not,  
   
Because you saturated sight,  
And I had no more eyes  
For sordid excellence          
As Paradise.  
   
And were you lost, I would be,  
Though my name  
Rang loudest  
On the heavenly fame.         
   
And were you saved,  
And I condemned to be  
Where you were not,  
That self were hell to me.  
   
So we must keep apart,          
You there, I here,  
With just the door ajar  
That oceans are,  
And prayer,  
And that pale sustenance,          
Despair! 




There came a day at summer’s full

There came a day at summer’s full  
Entirely for me;  
I thought that such were for the saints,  
Where revelations be.  
   
The sun, as common, went abroad,          
The flowers, accustomed, blew,  
As if no sail the solstice passed  
That maketh all things new.  
   
The time was scarce profaned by speech;  
The symbol of a word          
Was needless, as at sacrament  
The wardrobe of our Lord.  
   
Each was to each the sealed church,  
Permitted to commune this time,  
Lest we too awkward show          
At supper of the Lamb.  
   
The hours slid fast, as hours will,  
Clutched tight by greedy hands;  
So faces on two decks look back,  
Bound to opposing lands.          
   
And so, when all the time had failed,  
Without external sound,  
Each bound the other’s crucifix,  
We gave no other bond.  
   
Sufficient troth that we shall rise—          
Deposed, at length, the grave—  
To that new marriage, justified  
Through Calvaries of Love! 



I’m wife

I’m wife; I ’ve finished that,  
That other state;  
I ’m Czar, I ’m woman now:  
It ’s safer so.  
   
How odd the girl’s life looks        
Behind this soft eclipse!  
I think that earth seems so  
To those in heaven now.  
   
This being comfort, then  
That other kind was pain;         
But why compare?  
I ’m wife! stop there! 



She rose to his requirement, dropped

She rose to his requirement, dropped  
The playthings of her life  
To take the honorable work  
Of woman and of wife.  
   
If aught she missed in her new day        
Of amplitude, or awe,  
Or first prospective, or the gold  
In using wore away,  
   
It lay unmentioned, as the sea  
Develops pearl and weed,          
But only to himself is known  
The fathoms they abide. 



Come slowly, Eden!
 
Come slowly, Eden!
lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars --enters,
And is lost in balms!



Of all the souls that stand create

Of all the souls that stand create  
I have elected one.  
When sense from spirit files away,  
And subterfuge is done;  
   
When that which is and that which was       
Apart, intrinsic, stand,  
And this brief tragedy of flesh  
Is shifted like a sand;  
   
When figures show their royal front  
And mists are carved away,—       
Behold the atom I preferred  
To all the lists of clay! 



I have no life but this 
 
I have no life but this,  
To lead it here;  
Nor any death, but lest  
Dispelled from there;  
   
Nor tie to earths to come,        
Nor action new,  
Except through this extent,  
The realm of you. 



I gave myself to him
 
I gave myself to him,  
And took himself for pay.  
The solemn contract of a life  
Was ratified this way.  
   
The wealth might disappoint,         
Myself a poorer prove  
Than this great purchaser suspect,  
The daily own of Love  
   
Depreciate the vision;  
But, till the merchant buy,          
Still fable, in the isles of spice,  
The subtle cargoes lie.  
   
At least, ’t is mutual risk,—  
Some found it mutual gain;  
Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,        
Insolvent, every noon. 



Wild nights! Wild nights!
 
Wild nights! Wild nights!  
Were I with thee,  
Wild nights should be  
Our luxury!  
   
Futile the winds         
To a heart in port,—  
Done with the compass,  
Done with the chart.  
   
Rowing in Eden!  
Ah! the sea!         
Might I but moor  
To-night in thee! 



Did the harebell loose her girdle

Did the harebell loose her girdle  
To the lover bee,  
Would the bee the harebell hallow  
Much as formerly?  
   
Did the paradise, persuaded,        
Yield her moat of pearl,  
Would the Eden be an Eden,  
Or the earl an earl? 



In lands I never saw
 
In lands I never saw, they say,  
Immortal Alps look down,  
Whose bonnets touch the firmament,  
Whose sandals touch the town,—  
   
Meek at whose everlasting feet          
A myriad daisies play.  
Which, sir, are you, and which am I,  
Upon an August day? 



The MOON is distant from the sea
 
The MOON is distant from the sea,  
And yet with amber hands  
She leads him, docile as a boy,  
Along appointed sands.  
   
He never misses a degree;        
Obedient to her eye,  
He comes just so far toward the town,  
Just so far goes away.  
   
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,  
And mine the distant sea,—         
Obedient to the least command  
Thine eyes impose on me. 




What if I say I shall not wait?
 
What if I say I shall not wait?  
What if I burst the fleshly gate  
And pass, escaped, to thee?  
What if I file this mortal off,  
See where it hurt me,—that ’s enough,—       
And wade in liberty?  
   
They cannot take us any more,—  
Dungeons may call, and guns implore;  
Unmeaning now, to me,  
As laughter was an hour ago,          
Or laces, or a travelling show,  
Or who died yesterday! 



Proud of my broken heart
 
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,  
  Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,  
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,  
  Not to partake thy passion, my humility. 



Love is anterior to life
 
Love is anterior to life,  
  Posterior to death,  
Initial of creation, and  
  The exponent of breath.  



When roses cease to bloom, dear
 
When roses cease to bloom, dear,  
  And violets are done,  
When bumble-bees in solemn flight  
  Have passed beyond the sun,  
   
The hand that paused to gather         
  Upon this summer’s day  
Will idle lie, in Auburn,—  
  Then take my flower, pray! 



Summer for thee grant I may be

Summer for thee grant I may be  
  When summer days are flown!  
Thy music still when whippoorwill  
  And oriole are done!  
   
For thee to bloom, I ’ll skip the tomb       
  And sow my blossoms o’er!  
Pray gather me, Anemone,  
  Thy flower forevermore! 



Split the lark and you ’ll find the music

Split the lark and you ’ll find the music,  
  Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled,  
Scantily dealt to the summer morning,  
  Saved for your ear when lutes be old.  
   
Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,        
  Gush after gush, reserved for you;  
Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,  
  Now, do you doubt that your bird was true? 



To lose thee
 
To lose thee, sweeter than to gain  
  All other hearts I knew.  
’T is true the drought is destitute,  
  But then I had the dew!  
   
The Caspian has its realms of sand,        
  Its other realm of sea;  
Without the sterile perquisite  
  No Caspian could be. 



Poor little heart!
 
     Poor little heart!  
     Did they forget thee?  
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!  
   
     Proud little heart!  
     Did they forsake thee?         
Be debonair! Be debonair!  
   
     Frail little heart!  
     I would not break thee:  
Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me?  
   
     Gay little heart!          
     Like morning glory  
Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be! 



I've got an arrow here
 
I've got an arrow here;  
   Loving the hand that sent it,  
I the dart revere.  
   
Fell, they will say, in “skirmish”!  
   Vanquished, my soul will know,         
By but a simple arrow  
   Sped by an archer’s bow. 



He fumbles at your spirit

He fumbles at your spirit  
   As players at the keys  
Before they drop full music on;  
   He stuns you by degrees,  
   
Prepares your brittle substance        
   For the ethereal blow,  
By fainter hammers, further heard,  
   Then nearer, then so slow  
   
Your breath has time to straighten,  
   Your brain to bubble cool,—         
Deals one imperial thunderbolt  
   That scalps your naked soul. 



Heart, we will forget him!

Heart, we will forget him!  
   You and I, to-night!  
You may forget the warmth he gave,  
   I will forget the light.  
   
When you have done, pray tell me,         
   That I my thoughts may dim;  
Haste! lest while you’re lagging,  
   I may remember him! 




Father, I bring thee not myself

Father, I bring thee not myself,—  
   That were the little load;  
I bring thee the imperial heart  
   I had not strength to hold.  
   
The heart I cherished in my own         
   Till mine too heavy grew,  
Yet strangest, heavier since it went,  
   Is it too large for you? 



We outgrow love like other things

We outgrow love like other things  
   And put it in the drawer,  
Till it an antique fashion shows  
   Like costumes grandsires wore.  



Not with a club the heart is broken
 
Not with a club the heart is broken,  
       Nor with a stone;  
A whip, so small you could not see it,  
       I ’ve known  
   
To lash the magic creature          
       Till it fell,  
Yet that whip’s name too noble  
       Then to tell.  
   
Magnanimous of bird  
       By boy descried,          
To sing unto the stone  
       Of which it died. 



My friend must be a bird

My friend must be a bird,  
     Because it flies!  
Mortal my friend must be,  
     Because it dies!  
Barbs has it, like a bee.         
Ah, curious friend,  
     Thou puzzlest me!  



He touched me, so I live to know 

He touched me, so I live to know  
That such a day, permitted so,  
   I groped upon his breast.  
It was a boundless place to me,  
And silenced, as the awful sea         
   Puts minor streams to rest.  
   
And now, I ’m different from before,  
As if I breathed superior air,  
   Or brushed a royal gown;  
My feet, too, that had wandered so,         
My gypsy face transfigured now  
   To tenderer renown. 



Let me not mar that perfect dream
 
Let me not mar that perfect dream  
   By an auroral stain,  
But so adjust my daily night  
   That it will come again. 



I live with him, I see his face

I live with him, I see his face;  
   I go no more away  
For visitor, or sundown;  
   Death’s single privacy,  
   
The only one forestalling mine,        
   And that by right that he  
Presents a claim invisible,  
   No wedlock granted me.  
   
I live with him, I hear his voice,  
   I stand alive to-day          
To witness to the certainty  
   Of immortality  
   
Taught me by Time,—the lower way,  
   Conviction every day,—  
That life like this is endless,         
   Be judgment what it may. 



I envy seas whereon he rides
 
I envy seas whereon he rides,  
   I envy spokes of wheels  
Of chariots that him convey,  
   I envy speechless hills  
   
That gaze upon his journey;         
   How easy all can see  
What is forbidden utterly  
   As heaven, unto me!  
   
I envy nests of sparrows  
   That dot his distant eaves,          
The wealthy fly upon his pane,  
   The happy, happy leaves  
   
That just abroad his window  
   Have summer’s leave to be,  
The earrings of Pizarro          
   Could not obtain for me.  
   
I envy light that wakes him,  
   And bells that boldly ring  
To tell him it is noon abroad,—  
   Myself his noon could bring,          
   
Yet interdict my blossom  
   And abrogate my bee,  
Lest noon in everlasting night  
   Drop Gabriel and me. 



A solemn thing it was, I said
 
A solemn thing it was, I said,  
   A woman white to be,  
And wear, if God should count me fit,  
   Her hallowed mystery.  
   
A timid thing to drop a life        
   Into the purple well,  
Too plummetless that it come back  
   Eternity until. 



Title divine is mine

Title divine is mine  
The Wife without  
The Sign.  
Acute degree  
Conferred on me—        
Empress of Calvary.  
Royal all but the  
Crown—  
Betrothed, without the swoon  
God gives us women          
When two hold  
Garnet to garnet,  
Gold to gold—  
Born—Bridalled—  
Shrouded—        
In a day  
Tri-Victory—  
  “My Husband”  
Women say  
Stroking the melody,        
Is this the way?

Emily Dickinson