A Weight With Needles on the Pounds, by Emily Dickinson

A Weight With Needles on the Pounds

264

A Weight with Needles on the pounds—

To push, and pierce, besides—

That if the Flesh resist the Heft—

The puncture—coolly tries—

That not a pore be overlooked

Of all this Compound Frame—

As manifold for Anguish—

As Species—be—for name—

665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—

217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?

909 I make His Crescent fill or lack— His Nature is at Full Or Quarter—as I signify— His Tides—do I control—

Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die

534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—

864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.

108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!

178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.

908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—

Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit

Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket

424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—

150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.