It Was Too Late for Man, por Emily Dickinson

It Was Too Late for Man

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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—

30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?

The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,

XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!

497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?

942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee

Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense– the starkest Madness… ’Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -

326 I cannot dance upon my Toes’— No Man instructed me’— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me,

Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,

339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams—

760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—

76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—

797 By my Window have I for Scenery Just a Sea—with a Stem— If the Bird and the Farmer—deem i… The Opinion will serve—for them—

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