All Poems

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The farthest Thunder that I heard

© Emily Dickinson

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by --

The difference between Despair

© Emily Dickinson

The difference between Despair
And Fear -- is like the One
Between the instant of a Wreck
And when the Wreck has been --

The Definition of Beauty is

© Emily Dickinson

The Definition of Beauty is
That Definition is none --
Of Heaven, easing Analysis,
Since Heaven and He are one.

The Bee is not afraid of me.

© Emily Dickinson

The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially --

That it will never come again

© Emily Dickinson

That it will never come again
Is what makes life so sweet.
Believing what we don't believe
Does not exhilarate.

Surgeons must be very careful

© Emily Dickinson

Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit -- Life!

Sunset at Night -- is natural

© Emily Dickinson

Sunset at Night -- is natural --
But Sunset on the Dawn
Reverses Nature -- Master --
So Midnight's -- due -- at Noon.

Some say goodnight -- at night --

© Emily Dickinson

Some say goodnight -- at night --
I say goodnight by day --
Good-bye -- the Going utter me --
Goodnight, I still reply --

So give me back to Death --

© Emily Dickinson

So give me back to Death --
The Death I never feared
Except that it deprived of thee --
And now, by Life deprived,

So bashful when I spied her!

© Emily Dickinson

So bashful when I spied her!
So pretty -- so ashamed!
So hidden in her leaflets
Lest anybody find --

She slept beneath a tree

© Emily Dickinson

She slept beneath a tree --
Remembered but by me.
I touched her Cradle mute --
She recognized the foot --
Put on her carmine suit
And see!

Severer Service of myself

© Emily Dickinson

Severer Service of myself
I -- hastened to demand
To fill the awful Vacuum
Your life had left behind --

Sang from the Heart, Sire,

© Emily Dickinson

Sang from the Heart, Sire,
Dipped my Beak in it,
If the Tune drip too much
Have a tint too Red

Put up my lute!

© Emily Dickinson

Put up my lute!
What of -- my Music!
Since the sole ear I cared to charm --
Passive -- as Granite -- laps My Music --
Sobbing -- will suit -- as well as psalm!

Publication -- is the Auction

Publication -- is the Auction
Of the Mind of Man --
Poverty -- be justifying
For so foul a thing

Poor little Heart!

Poor little Heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Once more, my now bewildered Dove

Once more, my now bewildered Dove
Bestirs her puzzled wings
Once more her mistress, on the deep
Her troubled question flings --

On such a night, or such a night,

On such a night, or such a night,
Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair --

Oh, honey of an hour,

Oh, honey of an hour,
I never knew thy power,
Prohibit me
Till my minutest dower,
My unfrequented flower,
Deserving be.

Of all the Souls that stand create --

Of all the Souls that stand create --
I have elected -- One --
When Sense from Spirit -- files away --
And Subterfuge -- is done --