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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

To make One’s Toilette—after Death

485
 
To make One’s Toilette—after Death
Has made the Toilette cool
Of only Taste we cared to please
Is difficult, and still—
 
That’s easier—than Braid the Hair—
And make the Bodice gay—
When eyes that fondled it are wrenched
By Decalogues—away—

#AmericanWriters

Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...
My Reward for Being, Was This

343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
It Troubled Me as Once I Was

600 It troubled me as once I was— For I was once a Child— Concluding how an Atom—fell— And yet the Heavens—held—
It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation

560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
It Ceased to Hurt Me, Though So Slow

584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
 1
We don’t cry—Tim and I

We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
Funny—to be a Century

345 Funny—to be a Century— And see the People—going by— I—should die of the Oddity— But then—I’m not so staid—as He—
 1
They won’t frown always—some sweet Day

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.”
Why Do I Love You, Sir?

“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because’— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer’—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
 1
The Wind didn’t come from the Orchard—today

316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
Awake Ye Muses Nine, Sing Me a Strain Divine

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a str… Unwind the solemn twine, and tie m… Oh the Earth was made for lovers,… For sighing, and gentle whispering… All things do go a courting, in ea…
His Heart Was Darker Than the Starless Night

His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
A chilly Peace infests the Grass

A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
 1
After a Hundred Years

After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
 1
As by the Dead We Love to Sit

88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
The World—stands—solemner—to me

493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—



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