Poems begining by T
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The Butterfly's Numidian Gown
© Emily Dickinson
The Butterfly's Numidian Gown
With spots of Burnish roasted on
Is proof against the Sun
Yet prone to shut its spotted Fan
And panting on a Clover lean
As if it were undone --
That Love is all there is,
© Emily Dickinson
That Love is all there is,
Is all we know of Love;
It is enough, the freight should be
Proportioned to the groove.
That is solemn we have ended
© Emily Dickinson
That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday
That I did always love
© Emily Dickinson
That I did always love
I bring thee Proof
That till I loved
I never lived -- Enough --
'Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,
© Emily Dickinson
'Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,
That nearer, every Day,
Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel
Until the Agony
'Twas comfort in her Dying Room
© Emily Dickinson
'Twas comfort in her Dying Room
To hear the living Clock --
A short relief to have the wind
Walk boldly up and knock --
'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
© Emily Dickinson
'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so --
This side the Victory!
'Tis not that Dying hurts us so
© Emily Dickinson
'Tis not that Dying hurts us so --
'Tis Living -- hurts us more --
But Dying -- is a different way --
A Kind behind the Door --
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
© Emily Dickinson
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
Then, I am ready to go!
Just a look at the Horses --
Rapid! That will do!
Through those old Grounds of memory,
© Emily Dickinson
Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Through lane it lay -- through bramble
© Emily Dickinson
Through lane it lay -- through bramble --
Through clearing and through wood --
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.
Those final Creatures, -- who they are --
© Emily Dickinson
Those final Creatures, -- who they are --
That, faithful to the close,
Administer her ecstasy,
But just the Summer knows.
This was a Poet -- It is That
© Emily Dickinson
This was a Poet -- It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings --
And Attar so immense
This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies
© Emily Dickinson
This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies
And Lads and Girls --
Was laughter and ability and Sighing
And Frocks and Curls.
There is a morn by men unseen
© Emily Dickinson
There is a morn by men unseen --
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May --
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name --
Employ their holiday.
The Work of Her that went,
© Emily Dickinson
The Work of Her that went,
The Toil of Fellows done --
In Ovens green our Mother bakes,
By Fires of the Sun.
The Voice that stands for Floods to me
© Emily Dickinson
The Voice that stands for Floods to me
Is sterile borne to some --
The Face that makes the Morning mean
Glows impotent on them --
The mob within the heart
© Emily Dickinson
The mob within the heart
Police cannot suppress
The riot given at the first
Is authorized as peace
The largest Fire ever known
© Emily Dickinson
The largest Fire ever known
Occurs each Afternoon --
Discovered is without surprise
Proceeds without concern --
The Grass so little has to do
© Emily Dickinson
The Grass so little has to do --
A Sphere of simple Green --
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain --
