One Crucifixion is recorded—only, par Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

One Crucifixion is recorded—only

553

One Crucifixion is recorded—only—

How many be

Is not affirmed of Mathematics—

Or History—

One Calvary—exhibited to Stranger—

As many be

As persons—or Peninsulas—

Gethsemane—

Is but a Province—in the Being’s Centre—

Judea—

For Journey—or Crusade’s Achieving—

Too near—

Our Lord—indeed—made Compound Witness—

And yet—

There’s newer—nearer Crucifixion

Than That—

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Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...

Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered

523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—

A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink

566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—

In Snow Thou Comest

In snow thou comest - Thou shalt go with the resuming gr… The sweet derision of the crow, And Glee’s advancing sound. In fear thou comest -

A Book

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take

Delight Becomes Pictorial

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

The Grace—myself—might Not Obtain

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

The Lady Feeds Her Little Bird

941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize

‘Faithful to the End’ Amended

‘Faithful to the end’ Amended From the Heavenly Clause - Constancy with a Proviso Constancy abhors - ‘Crowns of Life’ are servile Priz…

Death is like the insect

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,

On a Columnar Self

789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty

The Murmur of a Bee

155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—

Success Is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host

It tossed—and tossed—

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

I Know That He Exists

338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.

Life XLVIII. Though I get home how late, how late!

XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,

Emily Dickinson

One Crucifixion is recorded—only

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