The Mountains—grow unnoticed, by Emily Dickinson

The Mountains—grow unnoticed

757

The Mountains—grow unnoticed—

Their Purple figures rise

Without attempt—Exhaustion—

Assistance—or Applause—

In Their Eternal Faces

The Sun—with just delight

Looks long—and last—and golden—

For fellowship—at night—

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

86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—

699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—

The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.

112 Where bells no more affright the m… Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms—

225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face

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—

186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—

285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—

783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—

321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—

369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—