Search Results for: by hand

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XX. A Tempest A TEMPEST. An awful tempest mashed the air, The clouds were gaunt and few; A black, as of a spectre’s cloak, Hid heaven and earth from view. The creatures chuckled on the roofs And whistled in the air, And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth. […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIX. By the Sea BY THE SEA. I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me, And frigates in the upper floor Extended hempen hands, Presuming me to be a mouse Aground, upon the sands. But no […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVIII. Two Butterflies Went Out At Noon TWO VOYAGERS. Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the firmament And rested on a beam; And then together bore away Upon a shining sea, — Though never yet, in any port, Their coming […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVII. Who Robbed the Woods Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say? -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVI. The Skies Can’t Keep Their Secret SECRETS. The skies can’t keep their secret! They tell it to the hills — The hills just tell the orchards — And they the daffodils! A bird, by chance, that goes that way Soft overheard the whole. If I should bribe the […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XV. A Route of Evanescence THE HUMMING-BIRD. A route of evanescence With a revolving wheel; A resonance of emerald, A rush of cochineal; And every blossom on the bush Adjusts its tumbled head, — The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy morning’s ride. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations of […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIV. I Dreaded That First Robin So IN SHADOW. I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I ‘m accustomed to him grown, — He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live Till that first shout got by, Not all pianos […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIII. The Oriole THE ORIOLE. One of the ones that Midas touched, Who failed to touch us all, Was that confiding prodigal, The blissful oriole. So drunk, he disavows it With badinage divine; So dazzling, we mistake him For an alighting mine. A pleader, a dissembler, An epicure, a […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XII. The Orilole’s Secret THE ORIOLE’S SECRET. To hear an oriole sing May be a common thing, Or only a divine. It is not of the bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto crowd. The fashion of the ear Attireth that it hear In dun or fair. So […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XI. My Rose MY ROSE. Pigmy seraphs gone astray, Velvet people from Vevay, Belles from some lost summer day, Bees’ exclusive coterie. Paris could not lay the fold Belted down with emerald; Venice could not show a cheek Of a tint so lustrous meek. Never such an ambuscade As […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems IX. April APRIL. An altered look about the hills; A Tyrian light the village fills; A wider sunrise in the dawn; A deeper twilight on the lawn; A print of a vermilion foot; A purple finger on the slope; A flippant fly upon the pane; A spider at his […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems VI. The Robin THE ROBIN. The robin is the one That interrupts the morn With hurried, few, express reports When March is scarcely on. The robin is the one That overflows the noon With her cherubic quantity, An April but begun. The robin is the one That speechless from […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems V. The Sun’s Wooing THE SUN’S WOOING. The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring. She felt herself supremer, — A raised, ethereal thing; Henceforth for her what holiday! Meanwhile, her wheeling king Trailed […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems III. At Half-Past Three At half-past three a single bird Unto a silent sky Propounded but a single term Of cautious melody. At half-past four, experiment Had subjugated test, And lo! her silver principle Supplanted all the rest. At half-past seven, element Nor implement was seen, And place was […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems II. Out of the Morning OUT OF THE MORNING. Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like water-lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Is it […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Nature the Gentlest Mother MOTHER NATURE. Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, — Her admonition mild In forest and the hill By traveller is heard, Restraining rampant squirrel Or too impetuous bird. How fair her conversation, A summer afternoon, — Her household, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVI. 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XV. The Lost Jewel THE LOST JEWEL. I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: “‘T will keep.” I woke and chid my honest fingers, — The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is […]