The Spirit Is the Conscious Ear, par Emily Dickinson

The Spirit Is the Conscious Ear

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The Spirit is the Conscious Ear.

We actually Hear

When We inspect—that’s audible—

That is admitted—Here—

For other Services—as Sound—

There hangs a smaller Ear

Outside the Castle—that Contain—

The other—only—Hear—

251 Over the fence— Strawberries—grow— Over the fence— I could climb—if I tried, I know—

165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!

The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.

Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.

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

575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,

353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—

Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine

201 Two swimmers wrestled on the spar— Until the morning sun— When One—turned smiling to the la… Oh God! the Other One!

305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—

898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom

199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—

13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand

A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush

567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—