If Recollecting Were Forgetting, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

If Recollecting Were Forgetting

If recollecting were forgetting,

Then I remember not.

And if forgetting, recollecting,

How near I had forgot.

And if to miss, were merry,

And to mourn, were gay,

How very blithe the fingers

That gathered this, Today!

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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I never felt at Home–Below–

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

Of Course—I prayed

376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—

The Beggar at the Door for Fame

The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied

Don’T Put Up my Thread and Needle

617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—

You’re right—”the way is narrow”—

234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—

The Birds Begun at Four O’Clock

783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—

Life XLI. the soul unto itself (683)

XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.

After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

Could mortal lip divine

Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.

‘They Have Not Chosen Me,’ He Said

‘They have not chosen me,’ he said… ‘But I have chosen them!’ Brave’—Broken hearted statement’— Uttered in Bethlehem! I could not have told it,

Heart, We Will Forget Him

Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave… I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me,

’Tis little I—could care for Pearls

466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—

The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune

285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—

’Tis Anguish Grander Than Delight

984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.

The Heaven Vests for Each

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

Emily Dickinson

If Recollecting Were Forgetting

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