This Was in the White of the Year, par Emily Dickinson

This Was in the White of the Year

995

This was in the White of the Year—

That—was in the Green—

Drifts were as difficult then to think

As Daisies now to be seen—

Looking back is best that is left

Or if it be—before—

Retrospection is Prospect’s half,

Sometimes, almost more.

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965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—

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—

The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,

21 We lose—because we win— Gamblers—recollecting which Toss their dice again!

XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.

703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—

622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…

They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…

356 The Day that I was crowned Was like the other Days— Until the Coronation came— And then—'twas Otherwise—

XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.

885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.

778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take

838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine

They say that ‘time assuages,’— Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is a test of trouble,