I Felt a Cleaving in my Mind, di Emily Dickinson

I Felt a Cleaving in my Mind

I felt a cleaving in my mind

As if my brain had split;

I tried to match it, seam by seam,

But could not make them fit.

The thought behind I strove to join

Unto the thought before,

But sequence ravelled out of reach

Like balls upon a floor.

LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

IF I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—

496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—

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—

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

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

60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal

Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships

481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow

805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—

950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—