Search Results for: poets

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems VII. Setting Sail SETTING SAIL. Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, — Past the houses, past the headlands, Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains, Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land? -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems VI. My Cocoon Tightens; Colors Tease FROM THE CHRYSALIS. My cocoon tightens, colors tease, I’m feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be The aptitude to fly, Meadows of majesty concedes And easy sweeps of sky. So […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems IV. Safe in their Alabaster Chambers Safe in their alabaster chambers, Untouched by morning and untouched by noon, Sleep the meek members of the resurrection, Rafter of satin, and roof of stone. Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine; Babbles the bee in a stolid ear; Pipe […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXXI. There’s A Certain Slant of Light There’s a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Heavenly hurt it gives us; We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are. None may teach it anything, ‘T is the […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXIX. Beclouded BECLOUDED. 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. -Emily […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXVIII. Autumn AUTUMN. The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on. -Emily Dickinson […]

< 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, […]