’Twas comfort in her Dying Room, by Emily Dickinson

’Twas comfort in her Dying Room

To hear the living Clock—

A short relief to have the wind

Walk boldly up and knock—

Diversion from the Dying Theme

To hear the children play—

But wrong the more

That these could live

And this of ours must die.

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“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.

109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—

779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—

176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance

799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—

637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—

269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—

121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet

656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—

218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!

I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -

A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign