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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

It Was Too Late for Man

623
 
It was too late for Man—
But early, yet, for God—
Creation—impotent to help—
But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
 
How excellent the Heaven—
When Earth—cannot be had—
How hospitable—then—the face
Of our Old Neighbor—God—

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Other works by Emily Dickinson...
The White Heat

Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
What Inn Is This

115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
Departed to the Judgment,

Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
 1
As If Some Little Arctic Flower

180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
 1
I Stepped From Plank to Plank

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next
Forever—it composed of Nows—

624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
 1
Death Is a Dialogue Between

976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
Rest at Night

714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
It stole along so stealthy

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
This Bauble Was Preferred of Bees

805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
Empty my Heart, of Thee

587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—
 1
You Know That Portrait in the Moon

504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
 1
The World—feels Dusty

715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
Escaping Backward to Perceive

867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
To my Quick Ear the Leaves Conferred;

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,



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