This—is the land—the Sunset washes—, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—

266

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—

These—are the Banks of the Yellow Sea—

Where it rose—or whither it rushes—

These—are the Western Mystery!

Night after Night

Her purple traffic

Strews the landing with Opal Bales—

Merchantmen—poise upon Horizons—

Dip—and vanish like Orioles!

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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He Parts Himself—like Leaves

517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—

To hang our head—ostensibly—

105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—

“Why Do I Love” You, Sir?

480 “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer—Wherefore when He pass

Till Death’is Narrow Loving

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

With Thee, in the Desert

209 With thee, in the Desert— With thee in the thirst— With thee in the Tamarind wood— Leopard breathes—at last!

Crumbling Is Not an Instant’s Act

997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.

Alter! When the Hills Do

729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—

Beauty—be not caused—It Is—

516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases

Life XXXIII. Dare you see a soul at the white heat?

XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore

Ideals Are the Fairly Oil

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

The Day Came Slow

The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…

Suspense – is Hostiler than Death –

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

’Tis So Much Joy!

172 ’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much jo… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I, Have ventured all upon a throw!

Me prove it now—Whoever doubt

537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—

My Friend Must Be a Bird

92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!

Emily Dickinson

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—

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