Poems begining by I
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It troubled me as once I was --
© Emily Dickinson
It troubled me as once I was --
For I was once a Child --
Concluding how an Atom -- fell --
And yet the Heavens -- held --
It tossed -- and tossed --
© Emily Dickinson
It tossed -- and tossed --
A little Brig I knew -- o'ertook by Blast --
It spun -- and spun --
And groped delirious, for Morn --
It struck me -- every Day
© Emily Dickinson
It struck me -- every Day --
The Lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through --
It stole along so stealthy
© Emily Dickinson
It stole along so stealthy
Suspicion it was done
Was dim as to the wealthy
Beginning not to own --
It sounded as if the Streets were running
© Emily Dickinson
It sounded as if the Streets were running
And then -- the Streets stood still --
Eclipse -- was all we could see at the Window
And Awe -- was all we could feel.
It rises -- passes -- on our South
© Emily Dickinson
It rises -- passes -- on our South
Inscribes a simple Noon --
Cajoles a Moment with the Spires
And infinite is gone --
It makes no difference abroad --
© Emily Dickinson
It makes no difference abroad --
The Seasons -- fit -- the same --
The Mornings blossom into Noons --
And split their Pods of Flame --
It knew no Medicine --
© Emily Dickinson
It knew no Medicine --
It was not Sickness -- then --
Nor any need of Surgery --
And therefore -- 'twas not Pain --
It is an honorable Thought
© Emily Dickinson
It is an honorable Thought
And make One lift One's Hat
As One met sudden Gentlefolk
Upon a daily Street
It is a lonesome Glee --
© Emily Dickinson
It is a lonesome Glee --
Yet sanctifies the Mind --
With fair association --
Afar upon the Wind
It dropped so low -- in my Regard --
© Emily Dickinson
It dropped so low -- in my Regard --
I heard it hit the Ground --
And go to pieces on the Stones
At bottom of my Mind --
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
© Emily Dickinson
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go --
But only knew by looking back --
That something -- had benumbed the Track --
It can't be "Summer"!
© Emily Dickinson
It can't be "Summer"!
That -- got through!
It's early -- yet -- for "Spring"!
There's that long town of White -- to cross --
It came his turn to beg --
© Emily Dickinson
It came his turn to beg --
The begging for the life
Is different from another Alms
'Tis Penury in Chief --
It came at last but prompter Death
© Emily Dickinson
It came at last but prompter Death
Had occupied the House --
His pallid Furniture arranged
And his metallic Peace --
It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon --
© Emily Dickinson
It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon --
The Flower -- distinct and Red --
I, passing, thought another Noon
Another in its stead
It always felt to me -- a wrong
© Emily Dickinson
It always felt to me -- a wrong
To that Old Moses -- done --
To let him see -- the Canaan --
Without the entering --
Is it dead -- Find it
© Emily Dickinson
Is it dead -- Find it --
Out of sound -- Out of sight --
"Happy"? Which is wiser --
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that --
Of the low Ground?
Is Heaven a Physician?
© Emily Dickinson
Is Heaven a Physician?
They say that He can heal --
But Medicine Posthumous
Is unavailable --
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
© Emily Dickinson
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
