Had we our senses, par Emily Dickinson

Had we our senses

But perhaps ’tis well they’re not at Home

So intimate with Madness

He’s liable with them

Had we the eyes without our Head—

How well that we are Blind—

We could not look upon the Earth—

So utterly unmoved—

949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,

702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—

Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,

My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks

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

988 The Definition of Beauty is That Definition is none— Of Heaven, easing Analysis, Since Heaven and He are one.

Judgment is justest When the Judged, His action laid away, Divested is of every Disk But his sincerity.

XXXIII 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

770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus

652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—

397 When Diamonds are a Legend, And Diadems—a Tale— I Brooch and Earrings for Myself… Do sow, and Raise for sale—

How slow the Wind - how slow the sea - how late their Fathers be!

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.