All Poems
/ page 3117 of 3210 /
Perhaps they do not go so far
© Emily Dickinson
Perhaps they do not go so far
As we who stay, suppose --
Perhaps come closer, for the lapse
Of their corporeal clothes --
Perhaps I asked too large
© Emily Dickinson
Perhaps I asked too large --
I take -- no less than skies --
For Earths, grow thick as
Berries, in my native town --
Somehow myself survived the Night
© Emily Dickinson
Somehow myself survived the Night
And entered with the Day --
That it be saved the Saved suffice
Without the Formula.
Peace is a fiction of our Faith --
© Emily Dickinson
Peace is a fiction of our Faith --
The Bells a Winter Night
Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound
That never did alight.
Pass to they Rendezvous of Light,
© Emily Dickinson
Pass to they Rendezvous of Light,
Pangless except for us --
Who slowly for the Mystery
Which thou hast leaped across!
Parting with Thee reluctantly,
© Emily Dickinson
Parting with Thee reluctantly,
That we have never met,
A Heart sometimes a Foreigner,
Remembers it forgot --
Paradise is that old mansion
© Emily Dickinson
Paradise is that old mansion
Many owned before --
Occupied by each an instant
Then reversed the Door --
Paradise is of the option.
© Emily Dickinson
Paradise is of the option.
Whosoever will
Own in Eden notwithstanding
Adam and Repeal.
Pain has but one Acquaintance
© Emily Dickinson
Pain has but one Acquaintance
And that is Death --
Each one unto the other
Society enough.
Pain -- expands the Time --
© Emily Dickinson
Pain -- expands the Time --
Ages coil within
The minute Circumference
Of a single Brain --
Over and over, like a Tune
© Emily Dickinson
Over and over, like a Tune --
The Recollection plays --
Drums off the Phantom Battlements
Cornets of Paradise --
Out of sight? What of that?
© Emily Dickinson
Blue is Blue -- the World through --
Amber -- Amber -- Dew -- Dew --
Seek -- Friend -- and see --
Heaven is shy of Earth -- that's all --
Bashful Heaven -- thy Lovers small --
Hide -- too -- from thee --
Ourselves were wed one summer -- dear --
© Emily Dickinson
Ourselves were wed one summer -- dear --
Your Vision -- was in June --
And when Your little Lifetime failed,
I wearied -- too -- of mine --
Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.
© Emily Dickinson
Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.
The channel of the dust who once achieves
Invalidates the balm of that religion
That doubts as fervently as it believes.
Our share of night to bear
© Emily Dickinson
Our share of night to bear --
Our share of morning --
Our blank in bliss to fill
Our blank in scorning --
Our own possessions -- though our own --
© Emily Dickinson
Our own possessions -- though our own --
'Tis well to hoard anew --
Remembering the Dimensions
Of Possibility.
Our little secrets slink away --
© Emily Dickinson
Our little secrets slink away --
Beside God's shall not tell --
He kept his word a Trillion years
And might we not as well --
Our little Kinsmen -- after Rain
© Emily Dickinson
Our little Kinsmen -- after Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
Opinion is a flitting thing,
© Emily Dickinson
Opinion is a flitting thing,
But Truth, outlasts the Sun --
If then we cannot own them both --
Possess the oldest one --
Only God -- detect the Sorrow --
© Emily Dickinson
Only God -- detect the Sorrow --
Only God --
The Jehovahs -- are no Babblers --
Unto God --
