It’s coming—the postponeless Creature—, par Emily Dickinson

It’s coming—the postponeless Creature—

390

It’s coming—the postponeless Creature—

It gains the Block—and now—it gains the Door—

Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings—

Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”?

Simple Salute—and certain Recognition—

Bold—were it Enemy—Brief—were it friend—

Dresses each House in Crape, and Icicle—

And carries one—out of it—to God—

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230 We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing… ’Tisn’t all Hock—with us— Life has its Ale— But it’s many a lay of the Dim Bu…

625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time

My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks

412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—

307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—

752 So the Eyes accost—and sunder In an Audience— Stamped—occasionally—forever— So may Countenance

Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—

665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—

7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—

222 When Katie walks, this simple pai… When Katie runs unwearied they fo… When Katie kneels, their loving h… Ah! Katie! Smile at Fortune, wit…

49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!

645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—

Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,

393 Did Our Best Moment last— ‘Twould supersede the Heaven— A few—and they by Risk—procure— So this Sort—are not given—