Poems by Emily Dickinson
His Mind like Fabrics of the East
... For though his price was not of Gold -- ...
His mind of man, a secret makes
... In which I have no part --Or even if I deem I do ...
His oriental heresies
... With gay apostasyFatigued at last, a Clover plain ...
His voice decrepit was with Joy --
... That purled a moment since with Glee -- ...
Hope is a subtle Glutton --
... What Abstinence is there --His is the Halcyon Table -- ...
How dare the robins sing,
... Who since they went to their account ...
How destitute is he
... When Love with but a Pence ...
How far is it to Heaven?
... How far left hand the Sepulchre ...
How firm Eternity must look
... In all Identity --How mighty to the insecure ...
How fits his Umber Coat
... In those primeval Clothes --We know that we are wise -- ...
How fleet -- how indiscreet an one --
... How fleet -- how indiscreet an one -- ...
How fortunate the Grave --
... Successful certain, if at last, ...
How good his Lava Bed,
... Who must be up to call the World ...
How happy I was if I could forget
... But the recollecting of BloomKeeps making November difficult ...
How know it from a Summer's Day?
... Yet Birds examine it and flee -- ...
