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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

We Can But Follow to the Sun

920
 
We can but follow to the Sun—
As oft as He go down
He leave Ourselves a Sphere behind—
’Tis mostly—following—
 
We go no further with the Dust
Than to the Earthen Door—
And then the Panels are reversed—
And we behold—no more.

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...
Forever—it composed of Nows—

624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
 1
A Night—there lay the Days between

471 A Night—there lay the Days betwee… The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind—were one— And now—'twas Night—was here—
Some, Too Fragile for Winter Winds

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
The dying need but little, dear

The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,
Each Scar I’ll keep for Him

877 Each Scar I’ll keep for Him Instead I’ll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one
A Book

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
 3
Through lane it lay—through bramble—

9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.
I Shall Keep Singing!

250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—
Rearrange a “Wife’s” Affection!

Rearrange a “Wife’s” Affection! When they dislocate my Brain! Amputate my freckled Bosom! Make me bearded like a man! Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness…
 1
Savior! I’Ve No One Else to Tell

217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
As Everywhere of Silver

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
If I Shouldn’T Be Alive

182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
You Cannot Put a Fire Out

530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
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—
 1
I’ll tell you how the Sun rose—

204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—



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