A first Mute Coming
702
A first Mute Coming—
In the Stranger's House—
A first fair Going—
When the Bells rejoice—
A first Exchange—of
What hath mingled—been—
For Lot—exhibited to
Faith—alone—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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She went as quiet as the Dew
149
She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's Eve—
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It's sorer to believe!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Much Madness is divinest Sense
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To A discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain -
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Whether my bark went down at sea
52
Whether my bark went down at sea—
Whether she met with gales—
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails—
By what mystic mooring
She is held today—
This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the Bay.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Missing All—prevented Me
985
The Missing All—prevented Me
From missing minor Things.
If nothing larger than a World's
Departure from a Hinge—
Or Sun's extinction, be observed—
'Twas not so large that I
Could lift my Forehead from my work
For Curiosity.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Secret told
381
A Secret told—
Ceases to be a Secret—then—
A Secret—kept—
That—can appal but One—
Better of it—continual be afraid—
Than it—
And Whom you told it to—beside—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Perhaps you think me stooping
833
Perhaps you think me stooping
I'm not ashamed of that
Christ—stooped until He touched the Grave—
Do those at Sacrament
Commemorative Dishonor
Or love annealed of love
Until it bend as low as Death
Redignified, above?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Reverse cannot befall
395
Reverse cannot befall
That fine Prosperity
Whose Sources are interior—
As soon—Adversity
A Diamond—overtake
In far—Bolivian Ground—
Misfortune hath no implement
Could mar it—if it found—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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If those I loved were lost
29
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice would tell me—
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring—
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip—when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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