My Nosegays Are for Captives;, di Emily Dickinson

My Nosegays Are for Captives;

My nosegays are for captives;

Dim, long-expectant eyes,

Fingers denied the plucking,

Patient till paradise.

To such, if they should whisper

Of morning and the moor,

They bear no other errand,

And I, no other prayer.

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8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?

707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—

568 We learned the Whole of Love— The Alphabet—the Words— A Chapter—then the mighty Book— Then—Revelation closed—

“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because’— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer’—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.

604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—

261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…

164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly

720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—

728 Let Us play Yesterday— I—the Girl at school— You—and Eternity—the Untold Tale—

852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

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

391 A Visitor in Marl— Who influences Flowers— Till they are orderly as Busts— And Elegant—as Glass—

462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed

997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.