EMILY DICKINSON'S POETRY




'T WAS JUST THIS TIME
LAST YEAR I DIED


A SHADY FRIEND FOR
TORRID DAYS


BEFORE YOU THOUGHT OF SPRING


I FELT A FUNERAL IN MY BRAIN


IT STRUCK ME EVERY DAY


TIE THE STRINGS TO MY LIFE, MY LORD




'T WAS JUST THIS TIME
LAST YEAR I DIED




'T was just this time last year I died.
I know I heard the corn,
When I was carried by the farms..
It had the tassels on.

I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill,
And then I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how red apples wedged
The stubble's joints between..
And carts went stooping round the fields
To take the pumpkins in.

I wondered which would miss me least,
And when Thanksgiving came,
If father'd multiply the plates
To make an even sum.

And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?..

But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be
When just this time, some perfect year,
Themselves should come to me.




 

 

A SHADY FRIEND FOR
TORRID DAYS




A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hourof mind.

The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy..

Who is to blame?.. The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!..




 

 

BEFORE YOU THOUGHT OF SPRING




Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness..

A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes..

To some
superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!




 

 

I FELT A FUNERAL
IN MY BRAIN




I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb..

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll..

As all the heavens were a bell,
And being, but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race
Wrecked, solitary, here.





 

 

IT STRUCK ME EVERY DAY




It struck me every day
The lightning
was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night,
It blistered in my dream..
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning's beam.

I thought that storm was brief..
The maddest, quickest by..
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.





 

 

TIE THE STRINGS TO
MY LIFE, MY LORD




Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,
Then I am ready to go!
Just a look at the horses..
Rapid!.. That will do!

Put me in on the firmest side,
So I shall never fall..
For we must ride to the Judgment,
And it's partly down hill.

But never I mind the bridges,
And never I mind the sea..
Held fast in everlasting race
By my own choice and thee.

Good-by to the life I used to lives,
And the world I used to know
And kiss the hills for me, just once..
Now I am ready to go!



EMILY DICKINSON









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