"Part II: XXXIV-LXX." by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
From: The Single Hound; Poems of a Lifetime. by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886). With an introduction by her niece, Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi (1866?-1943).
Boston: Little, Brown, 1914. pp. 36-76.
[Page 36]
XXXIV.
NATURE is what we see,
The Hill, the Afternoon–
Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee,
Nay–Nature is Heaven.
Nature is what we hear,
The Bobolink, the Sea–
Thunder, the Cricket–
Nay,–Nature is Harmony.
Nature is what we know
But have no art to say,
So impotent our wisdom is
To Her simplicity.
[Page 38]
XXXV.
AH, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages pause for you,
Sunset reviews her Sapphire Regiment,
Day drops you her red Adieu!
Still, clad in your mail of ices,
Thigh of granite and thew of steel–
Heedless, alike, of pomp or parting,
Ah, Teneriffe!
I'm kneeling still.
[Page 38]
XXXVI.
SHE died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turk
Upon a couch of flowers.
Her ghost strolled softly o'er the hill
Yesterday and today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece,
Her countenance as spray.
[Page 39]
XXXVII.
"MORNING" means "Milking" to the Farmer,
Dawn to the Apennines–
Dice to the Maid.
"Morning" means just Chance to the Lover–
Just Revelation to the Beloved.
Epicures date a breakfast by it!
Heroes a battle,
The Miller a flood,
Faint-going eyes their lapse
From sighing,
Faith, the Experiment of our Lord!
[Page 40]
XXXVIII.
A LITTLE madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown,
Who ponders this tremendous scene–
This whole experiment of green,
As if it were his own!
[Page 41]
XXXIX.
I CAN'T tell you, but you feel it–
Nor can you tell me,
Saints with vanished slate and pencil
Solve our April day.
Sweeter than a vanished Frolic
From a vanished Green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a ledge of Dream!
Modest, let us walk among it,
With our "faces veiled,"
As they say polite Archangels
Do, in meeting God.
Not for me to prate about it,
Not for you to say
To some fashionable Lady–
"Charming April Day!"
[Page 42]
Rather Heaven's "Peter Parley,"
By which, Children–slow–
To sublimer recitations
Are prepared to go!
[Page 43]
XL.
SOME Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie,
The Day that a companion came–
Or was obliged to die.
[Page 44]
XLI.
LIKE Men and Women shadows walk
Upon the hills today,
With here and there a mighty bow,
Or trailing courtesy
To Neighbors, doubtless, of their own;
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape, as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live.
[Page 45]
XLII.
THE butterfly obtains
But little sympathy,
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology.
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat,
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute.
Had he the homely scutcheon of modest Industry,
'Twere fitter certifying for Immortality.
[Page 46]
XLIII.
BEAUTY crowds me till I die,
Beauty, mercy have on me!
But if I expire today,
Let it be in sight of thee.
[Page 47]
XLIV.
WE spy the Forests and the Hills,
The tents to Nature's Show,
Mistake the outside for the in
And mention what we saw.
Could Commentators on the sign
Of Nature's Caravan
Obtain "admission," as a child,
Some Wednesday afternoon?
[Page 48]
XLV.
I NEVER told the buried gold
Upon the hill that lies,
I saw the sun, his plunder done,
Crouch low to guard his prize.
He stood as near, as stood you here,
A pace had been between–
Did but a snake bisect the brake,
My life had forfeit been.
That was a wondrous booty,
I hope 'twas honest gained–
Those were the finest ingots
That ever kissed the spade.
Whether to keep the secret–
Whether to reveal–
Whether, while I ponder
Kidd may sudden sail–
[Page 49]
Could a Shrewd advise me
We might e'en divide–
Should a Shrewd betray me–
"Atropos" decide!
[Page 50]
XLVI.
THE largest fire ever known
Occurs each afternoon,
Discovered is without surprise,
Proceeds without concern:
Consumes, and no report to men,
An Occidental town,
Rebuilt another morning
To be again burned down.
[Page 51]
XLVII.
BLOOM upon the Mountain, stated,
Blameless of a name.
Efflorescence of a Sunset–
Reproduced, the same.
Seed, had I, my purple sowing
Should endow the Day,
Not a tropic of the twilight
Show itself away.
Who for tilling, to the Mountain
Come, and disappear–
Whose be Her renown, or fading,
Witness, is not here.
While I state–the solemn petals
Far as North and East,
Far as South and West expanding,
Culminate in rest.
[Page 52]
And the Mountain to the Evening
Fit His countenance,
Indicating by no muscle
The Experience.
[Page 54]
XLVIII.
MARCH is the month of expectation,
The things we do not know,
The Persons of prognostication
Are coming now.
We try to sham becoming firmness,
But pompous joy
Betrays us, as his first betrothal
Betrays a boy.
[Page 54]
XLIX.
THE Duties of the Wind are few–
To cast the Ships at sea,
Establish March,
The Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.
[Page 55]
L.
THE Winds drew off
Like hungry dogs
Defeated of a bone.
Through fissures in
Volcanic cloud
The yellow lightning shown.
The trees held up
Their mangled limbs
Like animals in pain,
When Nature falls
Upon herself,
Beware an Austrian!
[Page 56]
LI.
I THINK that the root of the Wind is Water,
It would not sound so deep
Were it a firmamental product,
Airs no Oceans keep–
Mediterranean intonations,
To a Current's ear
There is a maritime conviction
In the atmosphere.
[Page 57]
LII.
SO, from the mould,
Scarlet and gold
Many a Bulb will rise,
Hidden away cunningly
From sagacious eyes.
So, from cocoon
Many a Worm
Leap so Highland gay,
Peasants like me–
Peasants like thee,
Gaze perplexedly.
[Page 58]
LIII.
THE long sigh of the Frog
Upon a Summer's day,
Enacts intoxication
Upon the revery.
But his receding swell
Substantiates a peace,
That makes the ear inordinate
For corporal release.
[Page 59]
LIV.
A CAP of lead across the sky
Was tight and surly drawn,
We could not find the mighty Face,
The Figure was withdrawn.
A chill came up as from a shaft,
Our noon became a well,
A Thunder storm combines the charms
Of Winter and of Hell.
[Page 60]
LV.
I SEND two Sunsets–
Day and I in competition ran,
I finished two, and several stars,
While He was making one.
His own is ampler–
But, as I was saying to a friend,
Mine is the more convenient
To carry in the hand.
[Sent with brilliant flowers.]
[Page 61]
LVI.
OF this is Day composed–
A morning and a noon,
A Revelry unspeakable
And then a gay Unknown;
Whose Pomps allure and spurn–
And dower and deprive,
And penury for glory
Remedilessly leave.
[Page 62]
LVII.
THE Hills erect their purple heads,
The Rivers lean to see–
Yet Man has not, of all the throng,
A curiosity.
[Page 63]
LVIII.
LIGHTLY stepped a yellow star
To its lofty place,
Loosed the Moon her silver hat
From her lustral face.
All of evening softly lit
As an astral hall–
"Father," I observed to Heaven,
"You are punctual."
[Page 64]
LIX.
THE Moon upon her fluent route
Defiant of a road,
The stars Etruscan argument,
Substantiate a God.
If Aims impel these Astral Ones,
The Ones allowed to know,
Know that which makes them as forgot
As Dawn forgets them now.
[Page 65]
LX.
LIKE some old fashioned miracle
When Summertime is done,
Seems Summer's recollection
And the affairs of June.
As infinite tradition
As Cinderella's bays,
Or little John of Lincoln Green,
Or Bluebeard's galleries.
Her Bees have a fictitious hum,
Her Blossoms, like a dream,
Elate–until we almost weep
So plausible they seem.
Her Memories like strains–review–
When Orchestra is dumb,
The Violin in baize replaced
And Ear and Heaven numb.
[Page 66]
LXI.
GLOWING is her Bonnet,
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,
Yet she cannot speak!
Better, as the Daisy
From the Summer hill,
Vanish unrecorded,
Save by tearful Rill,
Save by loving Sunrise
Looking for her face,
Save by feet unnumbered
Pausing at the place!
[Page 67]
LXII.
FOREVER cherished be the tree,
Whose apple Winter warm,
Enticed to breakfast from the sky
Two Gabriels yestermorn;
They registered in Nature's book
As Robin–Sire and Son,
But angels have that modest way
To screen them from renown.
[Page 68]
LXIII.
THE Ones that disappeared are back,
The Phoebe and the Crow,
Precisely as in March is heard
The curtness of the Jay–
Be this an Autumn or a Spring?
My wisdom loses way,
One side of me the nuts are ripe–
The other side is May.
[Page 69]
LXIV.
THOSE final Creatures,–who they are–
That, faithful to the close,
Administer her ecstasy,
But just the Summer knows.
[Page 70]
LXV.
SUMMER begins to have the look,
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly, but sure, perceives–
A gain upon the backward leaves.
Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud,
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.
The eye begins its avarice,
A meditation chastens speech,
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.
Conclusion is the course of all,
Almost to be perennial,
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.
[Page 71]
LXVI.
A PROMPT, executive Bird is the Jay,
Bold as a Bailiff's hymn,
Brittle and brief in quality–
Warrant in every line;
Sitting a bough like a Brigadier,
Confident and straight,
Much is the mien
Of him in March
As a Magistrate.
[Page 72]
LXVII.
LIKE brooms of steel
The Snow and Wind
Had swept the Winter Street,
The House was hooked,
The Sun sent out
Faint Deputies of heat–
Where rode the Bird
The Silence tied
His ample, plodding Steed,
The Apple in the cellar snug
Was all the one that played.
[Page 73]
LXVIII.
THESE are the days that Reindeer love
And pranks the Northern star,
This is the Sun's objective
And Finland of the year.
[Page 1]
LXIX.
FOLLOW wise Orion
Till you lose your eye,
Dazzlingly decamping
He is just as high.
[Page 75]
LXX.
IN Winter, in my room,
I came upon a worm,
Pink, lank, and warm.
But as he was a worm
And worms presume,
Not quite with him at home–
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring,
And went along.
A trifle afterward
A thing occurred,
I'd not believe it if I heard–
But state with creeping blood;
A snake, with mottles rare,
Surveyed my chamber floor,
In feature as the worm before,
But ringed with power.
The very string
[Page 76]
With which I tied him, too,
When he was mean and new,
That string was there.
I shrank–"How fair you are!"
Propitiation's claw–
"Afraid," he hissed,
"Of me?"
"No cordiality?"
He fathomed me.
Then, to a rhythm slim
Secreted in his form,
As patterns swim,
Projected him.
That time I flew,
Both eyes his way,
Lest he pursue–
Nor ever ceased to run,
Till, in a distant town,
Towns on from mine–
I sat me down;
This was a dream.
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