daily dose of Emily Dickinson

A faded Boy — in sallow Clothes

A faded Boy — in sallow Clothes
Who drove a lonesome Cow
To pastures of Oblivion —
A statesman's Embryo —

The Boys that whistled are extinct —
The Cows that fed and thanked
Remanded to a Ballad's Barn
Or Clover's Retrospect —

Spurn the temerity

Spurn the temerity —
Rashness of Calvary —
Gay were Gethsemane
Knew we of Thee —

What I can do — I will

What I can do — I will —
Though it be little as a Daffodil —
That I cannot — must be
Unknown to possibility —

(2/2)
Dungeons can call — and Guns implore
Unmeaning — now — to me —

As laughter — was — an hour ago —
Or Laces — or a Travelling Show —
Or who died — yesterday!

(1/2)
What if I say I shall not wait!

What if I say I shall not wait!
What if I burst the fleshly Gate —
And pass escaped — to thee!

What if I file this Mortal — off —
See where it hurt me — That's enough —
And wade in Liberty!

They cannot take me — any more!

Not seeing, still we know

Not seeing, still we know —
Not knowing, guess —
Not guessing, smile and hide
And half caress —

And quake — and turn away,
Seraphic fear —
Is Eden's innuendo
"If you dare"?

A South Wind — has a pathos

A South Wind — has a pathos
Of individual Voice —
As One detect on Landings
An Emigrant's address.

A Hint of Ports and Peoples —
And much not understood —
The fairer — for the farness —
And for the foreignhood.

Sweet Pirate of the heart

Sweet Pirate of the heart,
Not Pirate of the Sea,
What wrecketh thee?
Some spice's Mutiny —
Some Attar's perfidy?
Confide in me.

Escaping backward to perceive

Escaping backward to perceive
The Sea upon our place —
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace —

Retreating up, a Billow's height
Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.

(3/3)
Revisiting the Bog!

Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas —
Or what Circassian Land?

(2/3)
Of last year's sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees — march — one by one —
In murmuring platoon!

The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday —
On fence — and Roof — and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover - Don the Sun!

(1/3)
Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!

Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere —
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock's purple Train
Feather by feather — on the plain
Fritters itself away!

The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir

Each Second is the last

Each Second is the last
Perhaps, recalls the Man
Just measuring unconsciousness
The Sea and Spar between.

To fail within a Chance —
How terribler a thing
Than perish from the Chance's list
Before the Perishing!

(4/4)
I'd give — to live that hour — again —
The purple — in my Vein —
But He must count the drops — himself —
My price for every stain!

(3/4)
We walk — I leave my Dog — at home —
A tender — thoughtful Moon —
Goes with us — just a little way —
And — then — we are alone —

Alone — if Angels are "alone" —
First time they try the sky!
Alone — if those "veiled faces" — be —
We cannot count — on High!

(2/4)
I cross the Hall with mingled steps —
I — silent — pass the door —
I look on all this world contains —
Just his face — nothing more!

We talk in careless — and it toss —
A kind of plummet strain —
Each — sounding — shyly —
Just — how — deep —
The other's one — had been —

(1/4)
Again — his voice is at the door

Again — his voice is at the door —
I feel the old Degree —
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one — as me —

I take a flower — as I go —
My face to justify —
He never saw me — in this life —
I might surprise his eye!

Is it dead — Find it

Is it dead — Find it —
Out of sound — Out of sight —
"Happy"? Which is wiser —
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that —
Of the low Ground?

"Homesick"? Many met it —
Even through them — This
Cannot testify —
Themself — as dumb —

There comes an hour when begging stops

There comes an hour when begging stops,
When the long interceding lips
Perceive their prayer is vain.
"Thou shalt not" is a kinder sword
Than from a disappointing God
"Disciple, call again."

(2/2)
Of what Astute Abode —
Empowered with what Malignity
Auspiciously withheld —

To his adroit Creator
Acribe no less the praise —
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities —

(1/2)
The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings

The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings —
Like fallow Article —
And not a song pervade his Lips —
Or none perceptible.

His small Umbrella quaintly halved
Describing in the Air
An Arc alike inscrutable
Elate Philosopher.

Deputed from what Firmament —

(2/2)
The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.

(1/2)
My Reward for Being, was This.

My Reward for Being, was This.
My premium — My Bliss —
An Admiralty, less —
A Sceptre — penniless —
And Realms — just Dross —

When Thrones accost my Hands —
With "Me, Miss, Me" —
I'll unroll Thee —
Dominions dowerless — beside this Grace —
Election — Vote —

(2/2)
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 see it now —
'Tis Dying — I am doing — but
I'm not afraid to know —

(1/2)
The Sun kept setting — setting — still

The Sun kept setting — setting — still
No Hue of Afternoon —
Upon the Village I perceived
From House to House 'twas Noon —

The Dusk kept dropping — dropping — still
No Dew upon the Grass —
But only on my Forehead stopped —
And wandered in my Face —

(3/3)
That our Minds are hot.
News is he of all the others —
Bold it were to die
With the Blue Birds buccaneering
On his British sky —

(2/3)
Bold it were to die
With the Blue Birds exercising
On his British Sky.

—-

We like March — his shoes are Purple.
He is new and high —
Makes he Mud for Dog and Peddler —
Makes he Forests Dry —
Knows the Adder's Tongue his coming
And begets her spot —
Stands the Sun so close and mighty —

(1/3)
We like March.

We like March.
His Shoes are Purple —
He is new and high —
Makes he Mud for Dog and Peddler.
Makes he Forests dry.
Knows the Adder Tongue his coming
And presents her Spot —
Stands the Sun so close and mighty
That our Minds are hot.

News is he of all the others —

(3/3)
Than Sea and continent there is
A larger — it is Woe —

(2/3)
We pried him back
Ourselves we wedged
Himself and her between,
Yet easy as the narrow Snake
He forked his way along

Till all her helpless beauty bent
And then our wrath begun —
We hunted him to his Ravine
We chased him to his Den —

We hated Death and hated Life
And nowhere was to go —