So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem, di Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem

329

So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem

’Twas sorry, that we were—

For where the Holiday should be

There publishes a Tear—

Nor how Ourselves be justified—

Since Grief and Joy are done

So similar—An Optizan

Could not decide between—

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Doubt Me! my Dim Companion!

275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—

Blazing in Gold and Quenching in Purple

228 Blazing in Gold and quenching in… Leaping like Leopards to the Sky Then at the feet of the old Horiz… Laying her spotted Face to die

I Bet With Every Wind That Blew

I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -

Nature LXXIII: I ’LL tell you how the sun rose

LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.

If This Is “Fading”

120 If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red!

I Think Just How my Shape Will Rise

237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—

The Pedigree of Honey

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

We Talked as Girls Do

586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—

He Fumbles at Your Spirit

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance

A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart—

78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—

This Bauble Was Preferred of Bees

805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—

If I May Have It, When It’s Dead

577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—

Spring Is the Period

844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,

Life XIII. the soul selects her own society (303)

XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.

No Crowd That Has Occurred

515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—

Emily Dickinson