Experience Is the Angled Road, par Emily Dickinson

Experience Is the Angled Road

910

Experience is the Angled Road

Preferred against the Mind

By—Paradox—the Mind itself—

Presuming it to lead

Quite Opposite—How Complicate

The Discipline of Man—

Compelling Him to Choose Himself

His Preappointed Pain—

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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,

720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.

If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,

404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—

331 While Asters— On the Hill— Their Everlasting fashions—set— And Covenant Gentians—Frill!

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense

523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…

261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…

714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—

225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.