Poetical Works Of Emily Dickinson

The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, erect,
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Auger and the Carpenter –
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life –
A past of Plank and Nail
And slowness — then the Scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul.

The Stars are old, that stood for me –
The West a little worn –
Yet newer glows the only Gold
I ever cared to earn –

Presuming on that lone result
Her infinite disdain
But vanquished her with my defeat
‘Twas Victory was slain.

Lain in Nature — so suffice us
The enchantless Pod
When we advertise existence
For the missing Seed –

Maddest Heart that God created
Cannot move a sod
Pasted by the simple summer
On the Longed for Dead

How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn’t care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears –
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity –

My first well Day — since many ill –
I asked to go abroad,
And take the Sunshine in my hands,
And see the things in Pod –

A ‘blossom just when I went in
To take my Chance with pain –
Uncertain if myself, or He,
Should prove the strongest One.

The Summer deepened, while we strove –
She put some flowers away –
And Redder cheeked Ones — in their stead –
A fond — illusive way –

To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried –
As if before a child
To fade — Tomorrow — Rainbows held
The Sepulchre, could hide.

She dealt a fashion to the Nut –
She tied the Hoods to Seeds –
She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about –
And left Brazilian Threads

On every shoulder that she met –
Then both her Hands of Haze
Put up — to hide her parting Grace
From our unfitted eyes.

My loss, by sickness — Was it Loss?
Or that Ethereal Gain
One earns by measuring the Grave –
Then — measuring the Sun –

Went up a year this evening!
I recollect it well!
Amid no bells nor bravoes
The bystanders will tell!
Cheerful — as to the village –
Tranquil — as to repose –
Chastened — as to the Chapel
This humble Tourist rose!
Did not talk of returning!
Alluded to no time
When, were the gales propitious –
We might look for him!
Was grateful for the Roses
In life’s diverse bouquet –
Talked softly of new species
To pick another day;
Beguiling thus the wonder
The wondrous nearer drew –
Hands bustled at the moorings –
The crown respectful grew –
Ascended from our vision
To Countenances new!
A Difference — A Daisy –
Is all the rest I knew!

Surprise is like a thrilling — pungent –
Upon a tasteless meat
Alone — too acrid — but combined
An edible Delight.

Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Upon the Hills Today –
With here and there a mighty Bow
Or trailing Courtesy
To Neighbors doubtless of their own
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live –

Climbing to reach the costly Hearts
To which he gave the worth,
He broke them, fearing punishment
He ran away from Earth –

By Chivalries as tiny,
A Blossom, or a Book,
The seeds of smiles are planted –
Which blossom in the dark.