Dickinson, poèmes choisis

511

If you were coming in the Fall,

I'd brush the Summer by

With half a smile, and half a spurn,

As Housewives do,  a Fly.

 

If I could see you in a year,

I'd wind the months in balls -

And put them each in separate Drawers,

For fear the numbers fuse -

 

If only Centuries, delayed,

I'd count them on my Hand,

Subtracting, till my fingers dropped

Into Van Dieman's Land.

 

If certain, when this life was out -

That yours and mine, should be -

I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,

And take Eternity -

 

But, now, uncertain of the length

Of this, that is between,

It goads me, like the Goblin Bee -

That will not state - its sting.

 

561

I measure every Grief I meet

With narrow, probing, Eyes -

I wonder if It weighs like Mine -

Or has an Easier size.

 

I wonder if They bore it long -

Or did it just begin -

I could not tell the Date of Mine -

It feels so old a pain -

 

I wonder if it hurts to live -

And if They have to try -

And whether - could They choose between -

It would not be - to die -

 

I note that Some - gone patient long -

At length, renew their smile -

An imitation of a Light

That has so little Oil -

 

I wonder if when Years have piled -

Some Thousands - on the Harm -

That hurt them early - such a lapse

Could give them any Balm -

 

Or would they go on aching still

Through Centuries of Nerve -

Enlightened to a larger Pain -

In Contrast with the Love -

 

The Grieved - are many - I am told -

There is the various Cause -

Death - is but one - and comes but once -

And only nails the eyes -

 

There's Grief of Want - and Grief of Cold -

A sort they call "Despair" -

There's Banishment from native Eyes -

In sight of Native Air -

 

And though I may not guess the kind -

Correctly - yet to me

A piercing Comfort it affords

In passing Calvary -

 

To note the fashions - of the Cross -

And how they're mostly worn -

Still fascinated to presume

That Some - are like My Own -

 

579

I had been hungry, all the Years -

My Noon had Come - to dine -

I trembling drew the Table near -

And touched the Curious Wine -

 

'Twas this on Tables I had seen -

When turning, hungry, Home

I looked in Windows, for the Wealth

I could not hope - for Mine -

 

I did not know the ample Bread -

'Twas so unlike the Crumb

The Birds and I, had often shared

In Nature's - Dining Room -

 

The Plenty hurt me - 'twas so new -

Myself felt ill - and odd -

As Berry - of a Mountain Bush -

Transplanted - to a Road -

 

Nor was I hungry - so I found

That Hunger - was a way

Of Persons outside Windows -

The Entering - takes away -

 

580

I gave myself to Him -

And took Himself, for Pay,

The solemn contract of a Life

Was ratified, this way -

 

The Wealth might disappoint -

Myself a poorer prove

Than this great Purchaser suspect,

The Daily Own - of Love

 

Depreciate the Vision -

But till the Merchant buy -

Still Fable - in the Isles of Spice -

The subtle Cargoes - lie -

 

At least - 'tis Mutual - Risk -

Some - found it - Mutual Gain -

Sweet Debt of Life - Each Night to owe -

Insolvent - every Noon –

 

609

I - Years had been - from Home -

And now - before the Door -

I dared not enter - lest a face

I never saw before

 

Stare vacant into mine -

And ask my Business there -

My Business - just a Life I left -

Was such – still dwelling  there?

 

I fumbled at my nerve –

I scanned the Windows o’er -

The Silence - like an Ocean rolled -

And broke against my Ear -

 

I laughed a Wooden Laugh

That I - could fear a Door -

Who Danger – and the Dead – had faced -

And never shook - before.

 

I fitted to the Latch - my Hand

With trembling care -

Lest back the Awful Door should spring -

And leave me - in the Floor --

 

Then moved my fingers off, as cautiously as Glass -

And held my Ears - and like a Thief

Stole - gasping - from the House.

 

610

You'll find - it when you try to die -

The Easier to let go -

For recollecting such as went -

You could not spare - you know.

 

And though their places somewhat filled -

As did their Marble names

With Moss - they never grew so full -

You chose the newer names -

 

And when this World - sets further back -

As Dying - say it does -

The former love - distincter grows -

And supersedes the fresh -

 

And Thought of them - so fair invites -

It looks too tawdry Grace

To stay behind - with just the Toys

We bought - to ease their place -

 

613

They shut me up in Prose -

As when a little Girl

They put me in the Closet -

Because they liked me "still" -

 

Still! Could themself have peeped -

And seen my Brain - go round -

They might as wise have lodged a Bird

For Treason - in the Pound –

 

Himself has but to will

And easy as a Star

Abolish his Captivity -

And laugh - No more have I -

 

669

No Romance sold unto

Could so enthrall a Man -

As the perusal of

His Individual One -

'Tis Fiction's – to dilute plausibility

Our – Novel - When 'tis small eno’

To Credit - 'Tisn’t true -