One Sister Have I in Our House, par Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

One Sister Have I in Our House

One Sister have I in our house,

And one, a hedge away.

There’s only one recorded,

But both belong to me.

One came the road that I came—

And wore my last year’s gown—

The other, as a bird her nest,

Builded our hearts among.

She did not sing as we did—

It was a different tune—

Herself to her a music

As Bumble bee of June.

Today is far from Childhood—

But up and down the hills

I held her hand the tighter—

Which shortened all the miles—

And still her hum

The years among,

Deceives the Butterfly;

Still in her Eye

The Violets lie

Mouldered this many May.

I spilt the dew—

But took the morn—

I chose this single star

From out the wide night’s numbers—

Sue - forevermore!

#AmericanWriters

Préféré par...

Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...

Heart, We Will Forget Him

Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave… I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me,

Her—“last Poems”—

312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,

Of Brussels—it was not—

Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—

One Anguish—in a Crowd—

565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds

You love the Lord—you cannot see

You love the Lord—you cannot see— You write Him—every day— A little note—when you awake— And further in the Day. An Ample Letter—How you miss—

My Life Closed Twice

My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive

I reckon—when I count it all

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

Soil of Flint, If Steady Tilled

681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—

Tho’ my Destiny Be Fustian

163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—

A Prison Gets to Be a Friend

652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—

Not Sickness stains the Brave,

Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -

While Asters&Mdash;

331 While Asters— On the Hill— Their Everlasting fashions—set— And Covenant Gentians—Frill!

An Altered Look About the Hills

140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—

How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine

368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…

Wait Till the Majesty of Death

171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!

Emily Dickinson