Life XIV. The Secret (89), by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Life XIV. The Secret (89)

Part One: Life

XIV

SOME things that fly there be,—

Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:

Of these no elegy.

Some things that stay there be,—

Grief, hills, eternity:

Nor this behooveth me.

There are, that resting, rise.

Can I expound the skies?

How still the riddle lies!

#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury

Analysis

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The Lamp burns sure—within

233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!

The Only News I Know

827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—

Morns like these—we parted—

27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.

I shall know why—when Time is over—

193 I shall know why—when Time is ove… And I have ceased to wonder why— Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky—

You’ll know it—as you know ’tis Noon—

420 You’ll know it—as you know ’tis N… By Glory— As you do the Sun— By Glory—

To Flee From Memory

To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise

Love—is anterior to Life—

917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—

To This World She Returned

830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod

You love me—you are sure—

156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—

Gratitude—is not the mention

989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.

The Lady Feeds Her Little Bird

941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize

Ah, Moon—and Star!

240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—

I’Ve Heard an Organ Talk, Sometimes

183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—

The Wind Tapped Like a Tired Man,

The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,

Who Court Obtain Within Himself

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

Emily Dickinson