How firm Eternity must look, par Emily Dickinson

How firm Eternity must look

To crumbling men like me

The only Adamant Estate

In all Identity -

How mighty to the insecure

Thy Physiognomy

To whom not any Face cohere -

Unless concealed in thee

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XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.

667 Bloom upon the Mountain—stated— Blameless of a Name— Efflorescence of a Sunset— Reproduced—the same—

XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you

566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—

LXXXV A LIGHT exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here

The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day

I held a Jewel in my fingers’— And went to sleep’— The day was warm, and winds were p… I said 'Twill keep’— I woke’—and chid my honest fingers…

There cam a Wind like a Bugle - It quivered through the Grass And a Green Chill upon the Heat So ominous did pass We barred the Windows and the Doo…

570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—

No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us

430 It would never be Common—more—I s… Difference—had begun— Many a bitterness—had been— But that old sort—was done—

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—

157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—

LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.

A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—