How Many Times These Low Feet Staggered, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

How Many Times These Low Feet Staggered

187

How many times these low feet staggered—

Only the soldered mouth can tell—

Try—can you stir the awful rivet—

Try—can you lift the hasps of steel!

Stroke the cool forehead—hot so often—

Lift—if you care—the listless hair—

Handle the adamantine fingers

Never a thimble—more—shall wear—

Buzz the dull flies—on the chamber window—

Brave—shines the sun through the freckled pane—

Fearless—the cobweb swings from the ceiling—

Indolent Housewife—in Daisies—lain!

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Bound—a trouble—

269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—

Speech—is a prank of Parliament—

688 “Speech”—is a prank of Parliament… “Tears”—is a trick of the nerve— But the Heart with the heaviest f… Doesn't—always—move—

537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt

Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature—

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal

Nature Rarer Uses Yellow

Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,

I Never Told the Buried Gold

11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.

Life XX. Arcturus is his other name (20)

XX ARCTURUS is his other name,— I ’d rather call him star! It ’s so unkind of science To go and interfere!

’Twas the old—road—through pain—

344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—

How Slow the Wind

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

Life XIX. Pain has an element of blank (650)

XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.

T Was Just This Time Last Year I Died.

‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look

I’M the Little

176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?

The Sunrise Runs for Both

710 The Sunrise runs for Both— The East—Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill— The Noon unwinds Her Blue

He Told a Homely Tale

763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—

Life XVII. When night is almost done (347)

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

Emily Dickinson