Search Results for: poetry at work

< 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIII. 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XI. The Lovers THE LOVERS. The rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful. Her fingers fumbled at her work, — Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems VII. 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! -Emily Dickinson […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems V. Going to Him THE LETTER. “Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him — Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun out. Tell him just how the fingers hurried, Then how they waded, slow, slow, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems IV. I Gave Myself To Him THE CONTRACT. 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; […]