Midsummer, Was It, When They Died, par Emily Dickinson

Midsummer, Was It, When They Died

962

Midsummer, was it, when They died—

A full, and perfect time—

The Summer closed upon itself

In Consummated Bloom—

The Corn, her furthest kernel filled

Before the coming Flail—

When These—leaned unto Perfectness—

Through Haze of Burial—

660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—

50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—

570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.

Part One: Life LIV EXPERIMENT to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel?

198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

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

423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—

96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—

Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine

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

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour

555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—