Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One

XVII

 
I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
 
 
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
 

XVIII

PLAYMATES

 
God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, – forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway.
 
 
God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!
 

XIX

 
To know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise.
 
 
To know if he was patient, part content,
Was dying as he thought, or different;
Was it a pleasant day to die,
And did the sunshine face his way?
 
 
What was his furthest mind, of home, or God,
Or what the distant say
At news that he ceased human nature
On such a day?
 
 
And wishes, had he any?
Just his sigh, accented,
Had been legible to me.
And was he confident until
Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?
 
 
And if he spoke, what name was best,
What first,
What one broke off with
At the drowsiest?
 
 
Was he afraid, or tranquil?
Might he know
How conscious consciousness could grow,
Till love that was, and love too blest to be,
Meet – and the junction be Eternity?
 

XX

 
The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.
 
 
We noticed smallest things, —
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as 't were.
 
 
That others could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.
 
 
We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the notice came.
 
 
She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.
 
 
And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.
 

XXI

THE FIRST LESSON

 
Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me.
 
 
And yet, my primer suits me so
I would not choose a book to know
Than that, be sweeter wise;
Might some one else so learned be,
And leave me just my A B C,
Himself could have the skies.
 

XXII

 
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, —
 
 
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
 

XXIII

 
I reason, earth is short,
And anguish absolute,
And many hurt;
But what of that?
 
 
I reason, we could die:
The best vitality
Cannot excel decay;
But what of that?
 
 
I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
But what of that?
 

XXIV

 
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.
 
 
Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.
 
 
Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!
 

XXV

DYING

 
The sun kept setting, setting still;
No hue of afternoon
Upon the village I perceived, —
From house to house 't was noon.
 
 
The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face.
 
 
My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?
 
 
How well I knew the light before!
I could not see it now.
'T is dying, I am doing; but
I'm not afraid to know.
 

XXVI

 
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one turned smiling to the land.
O God, the other one!
 
 
The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands beseeching thrown.
 

XXVII

THE CHARIOT

 
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
 
 
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
 
 
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
 
 
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
 
 
Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
 

XXVIII

 
She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!
 
 
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!
 

XXIX

RESURGAM

 
At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our feet and day!
 

XXX

 
Except to heaven, she is nought;
Except for angels, lone;
Except to some wide-wandering bee,
A flower superfluous blown;
 
 
Except for winds, provincial;
Except by butterflies,
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the acre lies.
 
 
The smallest housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made existence home!
 

XXXI

 
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,
I have another trust."
 
 
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
 

XXXII

 
It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.
 
 
How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!
 

XXXIII

ALONG THE POTOMAC

 
When I was small, a woman died.
To-day her only boy
Went up from the Potomac,
His face all victory,
 
 
To look at her; how slowly
The seasons must have turned
Till bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round!
 
 
If pride shall be in Paradise
I never can decide;
Of their imperial conduct,
No person testified.
 
 
But proud in apparition,
That woman and her boy
Pass back and forth before my brain,
As ever in the sky.
 

XXXIV

 
The daisy follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
   Sits shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?"
   "Because, sir, love is sweet!"
 
 
We are the flower, Thou the sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline,
   We nearer steal to Thee, —
Enamoured of the parting west,
The peace, the flight, the amethyst,
   Night's possibility!