Search Results for: poetry at work

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXVII. Indian Summer INDIAN SUMMER. These are the days when birds come back, A very few, a bird or two, To take a backward look. These are the days when skies put on The old, old sophistries of June, — A blue and gold mistake. Oh, fraud that cannot […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXV. Apparently With No Surprise DEATH AND LIFE. Apparently with no surprise To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on, The sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another day For an approving God. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIV. Purple Clover XIV. PURPLE CLOVER. There is a flower that bees prefer, And butterflies desire; To gain the purple democrat The humming-birds aspire. And whatsoever insect pass, A honey bears away Proportioned to his several dearth And her capacity. Her face is rounder than the moon, And ruddier […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXII. I’ll Tell You How the Sun Rose A DAY. I’ll tell you how the sun rose, — A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, “That must […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXI. The Mountain Sat Upon the Plain THE MOUNTAIN. The mountain sat upon the plain In his eternal chair, His observation omnifold, His inquest everywhere. The seasons prayed around his knees, Like children round a sire: Grandfather of the days is he, Of dawn the ancestor. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XX. It Makes No Difference Abroad TWO WORLDS. It makes no difference abroad, The seasons fit the same, The mornings blossom into noons, And split their pods of flame. Wild-flowers kindle in the woods, The brooks brag all the day; No blackbird bates his jargoning For passing Calvary. Auto-da-fe […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIX. So Bashful When I Spied Her So bashful when I spied her, So pretty, so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets, Lest anybody find; So breathless till I passed her, So helpless when I turned And bore her, struggling, blushing, Her simple haunts beyond! For whom I robbed […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVIII. Angels in the Early Morning Angels in the early morning May be seen the dews among, Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying: Do the buds to them belong? Angels when the sun is hottest May be seen the sands among, Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying; Parched the flowers they bear along. […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIII. The Sea of Sunset THE SEA OF SUNSET. This is the land the sunset washes, These are the banks of the Yellow Sea; Where it rose, or whither it rushes, These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traffic Strews the landing with opal bales; Merchantmen […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XII. A Something in a Summer’s Day PSALM OF THE DAY. A something in a summer’s day, As slow her flambeaux burn away, Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon, — An azure depth, a wordless tune, Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s night A something […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XI. A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree SUMMER SHOWER. A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems The Grass So Little Has to Do THE GRASS. The grass so little has to do, — A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain, And stir all day to pretty tunes The breezes fetch along, And hold the sunshine in its lap […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems The Bee is Not Afraid of Me The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly; The pretty people in the woods Receive me cordially. The brooks laugh louder when I come, The breezes madder play. Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists? Wherefore, O summer’s day? -Emily […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Some Keep the Sabbath by Going to Church A SERVICE OF SONG. Some keep the Sabbath going to church; I keep it staying at home, With a bobolink for a chorister, And an orchard for a dome. Some keep the Sabbath in surplice; I just wear my wings, And […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems V. The Pedigree of Honey The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations of “The Pedigree of Honey” by Emily Dickinson   Listen to these Readings of “The Pedigree of Honey” Listen to this Musical Interpretation of […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems IV. Perhaps You’d Like to Buy a Flower Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower? But I could never sell. If you would like to borrow Until the daffodil Unties her yellow bonnet Beneath the village door, Until the bees, from clover rows Their hock and sherry draw, Why, […]