To make One’s Toilette—after Death, di 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—

704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken

Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it ma…

571 Must be a Woe— A loss or so— To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way—

81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.

The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—

LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —

Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.

490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?

I am afraid to own a Body - I am afraid to own a Soul - Profound– precarious Property – Possession, not optional - Double Estate - entailed at plea…

825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—

696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—

888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—

Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!

401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—

These—saw Visions— Latch them softly— These—held Dimples— Smooth them slow— This—addressed departing accents—