This that would greet—an hour ago—, por Emily Dickinson

This that would greet—an hour ago—

778

This that would greet—an hour ago—

Is quaintest Distance—now—

Had it a Guest from Paradise—

Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

Had it a notice from the Noon

Nor beam would it nor warm—

Match me the Silver Reticence—

Match me the Solid Calm—

273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—

447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next

XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.

87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.

It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,

485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—

98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!

557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—

864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.

Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself— Tastes Death—the first—to hand th…

149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –

XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you