Emily Dickinson

«Where I have lost, I softer tread - | I sow sweet flower from garden bed - | I pause above that vanished head | And mourn. | Whom I have lost, I pious guard | From accent harsh, or ruthless word - | Feeling as if their pillow heard, | Though stone! | | When I have lost, you'll know by this - | A Bonnet black - A dusk surplice - | A little tremor in my voice | Like this! | | Why, I have lost, the people know | Who dressed in frocks of purest snow | Went home a century ago | Next Bliss!»

«The Daisy follows soft the Sun - | And when his golden walk is done - | Sits shyly at his feet - | He - waking - finds the flower there - | Wherefore - Marauder - art thou here? | Because, Sir, love is sweet! | We are the Flower - Thou the Sun! | Forgive us, if as days decline - | We nearer steal to Thee! | Enamored of the parting West - | The peace - the flight - the amethyst - | Night's possibility!»

«'Twas such a little - little boat | That toddled down the bay! | 'Twas such a gallant - gallant sea | That beckoned it away! | 'Twas such a greedy, greedy wave | That licked it from the Coast - | Nor ever guessed the stately sails | My little craft was lost!»

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

«Artists wrestled here! | Lo, a tint Cashmere! | Lo, a Rose! | Student of the Year! | For the easel here | Say Repose!»

«By a flower - By a letter - | By a nimble love - | If I weld the Rivet faster - | Final fast - above - | Never mind my breathless Anvil! | Never mind Repose! | Never mind the sooty faces | Tugging at the Forge!»

«My friend attacks my friend! | Oh Battle picturesque! | Then I turn Soldier too, | And he turns Satirist! | How martial is this place! | Had I a mighty gun | I think I'd shoot the human race | And then to glory run!»

«In rags mysterious as these | The shining Courtiers go, | Vailing the purple, and the plumes - | Vailing the ermine so. | Smiling, as they request an alms | At some imposing door - | Smiling when we walk barefoot | Upon their golden floo.»

«Where bells no more affright the morn - | Where scrabble never comes - | Where very nimble Gentlemen | Are forced to keep their rooms - | Where tired Children placid sleep | Thro' Centuries of noon | This place is Bliss - this town is Heaven - | Please, Pater, pretty soon! | | "Oh could we climb where Moses stood, | And view the Landscape o'er" | Not Father's bells - nor Factories, | Could scare us any more!»

«Our share of night to bear - | Our share of morning - | Our blank in bliss to fill, | Our blank in scorning - | Here a star, and there a star, | Some lose their way! | Here a mist - and there a mist - | Afterwards - Day!»

«"Good night", because we must! | How intricate the Dust! | I would go, to know - | Oh Incognito! | Saucy, saucy Seraph, | To elude me so! | Father! They wont tell me! | Wont you tell them to?»

«What Inn is this | Where for the night | Peculiar Traveller comes? | Who is the Landlord? | Where the maids? | Behold, what curious rooms! | No ruddy fires on the hearth - | No brimming tankards flow - | Necromancer! Landlord! | Who are these below.»

«I had some things that I called mine - | And God, that he called his - | Till, recently a rival Claim | Disturbed these amities. | The property, my garden, | Which having sown with care, | He claims the pretty acre, | And sends a Bailiff there. | | The station of the parties | Forbids publicity, | But Justice is sublimer | Than arms, or pedigree. | | I'll institute an "Action" - | I'll vindicate the law - | Jove! Choose your counsel - | I retain "Shaw"!»

«If this is "fading" | Oh let me immediately "fade"! | If this is "dying" | Bury me, in such a shroud of red! | If this is "sleep", | On such a night | How proud to shut the eye! | Good evening, gentle Fellow men! | Peacock presumes to die!»

«Talk with prudence to a Beggar | Of "Potosi", and the mines! | Reverently, to the Hungry | Of your viands, and your wines! | Cautious, hint to any Captive | You have passed enfranchized feet! | Anecdotes of air, in Dungeons | Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!»

«I robbed the Woods - | The trusting Woods - | The unsuspecting Trees | Brought out their Burs and mosses | My fantasy to please - | I scanned their trinkets curious - | I grasped - I bore away - | What will the solemn Hemlock - | What will the Oak tree say.»

«When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, | And Violets are done - | When Bumblebees in solemn flight | Have passed beyond the Sun - | The hand that paused to gather | Upon this Summer's day | Will idle lie - in Auburn - | Then take my flowers - pray!»

«If she had been the Mistletoe | And I had been the Rose - | How gay upon your table | My velvet life to Close - | Since I am of the Druid - | And she is of the dew - | I'll deck Tradition's buttonhole | And send the Rose to you.»

«Nobody knows this little Rose - | It might a pilgrim be | Did I not take it from the ways | And lift it up to thee. | Only a Bee will miss it - | Only a Butterfly, | Hastening from far journey - | On it's breast to lie - | Only a Bird will wonder - | Only a Breeze will sigh - | Ah Little Rose - how easy | For such as thee to die!»

«A Day! Help! Help! | Another Day! | Your prayers - Oh Passer by! | From such a common ball as this | Might date a Victory! | From marshallings as simple | The flags of nations swang. | Steady - my soul: What issues | Upon thine arrow hang!»