Is it dead—Find it—, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Is it dead—Find it—

417

Is it dead—Find it—

Out of sound—Out of sight—

“Happy”? Which is wiser—

You, or the Wind?

“Conscious”? Won’t you ask that—

Of the low Ground?

“Homesick”? Many met it—

Even through them—This

Cannot testify—

Themself—as dumb—

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Alone, I Cannot Be

298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—

I Asked No Other Thing

621 I asked no other thing— No other—was denied— I offered Being—for it— The Mighty Merchant sneered—

From Blank to Blank

761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—

This Chasm, Sweet, Upon my Life

858 This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure dr… The Day must follow too.

Those Who Have Been in the Grave the Longest

922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—

This Merit Hath the Worst

979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—

No Crowd That Has Occurred

515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—

The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in his side—

The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…

Myself Was Formed’a Carpenter

488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—

She died – this was the way she died.

150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—

Drab Habitation of Whom?

893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—

An English Breeze

UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…

Life XI. Much madness is divinest sense (435)

XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority

Size circumscribes—it has no room

641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—

She Died at Play

75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn

Emily Dickinson

Is it dead—Find it—

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