To Lose Thee, di Emily Dickinson

To Lose Thee

To lose thee, sweeter than to gain

All other hearts I knew.

Tis true the drought is destitute

But, then, I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,

Its other realm of sea.

Without this sterile perquisite

No Caspian could be.

LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,

582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,

Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -

168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!

364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—

874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”

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

336 The face I carry with me—last— When I go out of Time— To take my Rank—by—in the West— That face—will just be thine—

XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!

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

482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—

483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar—