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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Escaping Backward to Perceive

867
 
Escaping backward to perceive
The Sea upon our place—
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace—
 
Retreating up, a Billow’s height
Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.

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Other works by Emily Dickinson...
To Hear an Oriole Sing

526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
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Life XLVI. a thought went up my mind to-day (701)

XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
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There is a pain—so utter

599 There is a pain—so utter— It swallows substance up— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
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Me, Change! Me, Alter!

268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
Time IV. Safe in their Alabaster Chambers (124)

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…
Life II. Our share of night to bear (113)

II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
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Dare You See a Soul at the White Heat?

365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
Two Swimmers Wrestled on the Spar

201 Two swimmers wrestled on the spar— Until the morning sun— When One—turned smiling to the la… Oh God! the Other One!
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We dream—it is good we are dreaming—

531 We dream—it is good we are dreamin… It would hurt us—were we awake— But since it is playing—kill us, And we are playing—shriek—
Come Slowly

Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
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Morns like these—we parted—

27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
The White Heat

Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
The name—of it—is “Autumn”—

656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
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Within my Garden, Rides a Bird

500 Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel— Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As ’twere a travelling Mill—
I've nothing else—to bring, You know—

224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—



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