Encore Dickinson

375

The Angle of a Landscape -

That every time I wake -

Between my Curtain and the Wall

Upon an ample Crack -

 

Like a Venetian - waiting -

Accosts my open eye -

Is just a Bough of Apples -

Held slanting, in the Sky -

 

The Pattern of a Chimney -

The Forehead of a Hill -

Sometimes - a Vane's Forefinger -

But that's - Occasional -

 

The Seasons - shift - my Picture -

Upon my Emerald Bough,

I wake - to find no - Emeralds -

Then - Diamonds - which the Snow

 

From Polar Caskets - fetched me -

The Chimney - and the Hill -

And just the Steeple's finger -

These never stir at all -

 

376 

Of Course - I prayed -

And did God Care?

He cared as much as on the Air

A Bird - had stamped her foot -

And cried "Give Me" -

My Reason - Life -

I had not had - but for Yourself -

'Twere better Charity

To leave me in the Atom's Tomb -

Merry, and Nought, and gay, and numb -

Than this smart Misery.

 

393

Did Our Best Moment last -

'Twould supersede the Heaven -

A few - and they by Risk - procure -

So this Sort - are not given -

 

Except as stimulants - in

Cases of Despair -

Or Stupor - The Reserve -

These Heavenly Moments are -

 

A Grant of the Divine -

That Certain as it Comes -

Withdraws - and leaves the dazzled Soul

In her unfurnished Rooms

 

396

There is a Languor of the Life

More imminent than Pain -

'Tis Pain's Successor - When the Soul

Has suffered all it can -

 

A Drowsiness - diffuses -

A Dimness like a Fog

Envelops Consciousness -

As Mists - obliterate a Crag.

 

The Surgeon - does not blanch - at pain

His Habit - is severe -

But tell him that it ceased to feel -

The Creature lying there -

 

And he will tell you - skill is late -

A Mightier than He -

Has ministered before Him -

There's no Vitality.

 

410

The first Day's Night had come -

And grateful that a thing

So terrible - had been endured -

I told my Soul to sing -

 

She said her Strings were snapt -

Her Bow - to Atoms blown -

And so to mend her - gave me work

Until another Morn -

 

And then - a Day as huge

As Yesterdays in pairs,

Unrolled its horror in my face -

Until it blocked my eyes -

 

My Brain - begun to laugh -

I mumbled - like a fool -

And tho' 'tis Years ago - that Day -

My Brain keeps giggling - still.

 

And Something's odd - within -

That person that I was -

And this One - do not feel the same -

Could it be Madness - this?

 

411

The Color of the Grave is Green –

The Outer Grave - I mean -

You would not know it from the Field -

Except it own a Stone -

 

To help the fond - to find it -

Too infinite asleep

To stop and tell them where it is -

But just a Daisy - deep -

 

The Color of the Grave is white -

The outer Grave - I mean -

You would not know it from the Drifts -

In Winter - till the Sun -

 

 Has furrowed out the Aisles -

Then - higher than the Land

The little Dwelling Houses rise

Where each - has left a friend -

 

The Color of the Grave within -

The Duplicate - I mean -

Not all the Snows could make it white -

Not all the Summers - Green -

 

You've seen the Color - maybe -

Upon a Bonnet bound -

When that you met it with before -

The Ferret - cannot find -

 

423

The Months have ends - the Years - a knot -

No Power can untie

To stretch a little further

A Skein of Misery -

 

The Earth lays back these tired lives

In her mysterious Drawers -

Too tenderly, that any doubt

An ultimate Repose -

 

The manner of the Children -

Who weary of the Day -

Themself - the noisy Plaything

They cannot put away –

 

442

God made a little Gentian -

It tried - to be a Rose -

And failed - and all the Summer laughed -

But just before the Snows

 

There rose a Purple Creature -

That ravished all the Hill -

And Summer hid her Forehead -

And Mockery - was still -

 

The Frosts were her condition -

The Tyrian would not come

Until the North - invoke it -

Creator - Shall I - bloom?

 

443

I tie my Hat - I crease my Shawl -

Life's little duties do - precisely -

As the very least

Were infinite - to me -

 

I put new Blossoms in the Glass -

And throw the old - away -

I push a petal from my Gown

That anchored there - I weigh

The time 'twill be till six o'clock

I have so much to do -

And yet - Existence - some way back -

Stopped-- struck - my tickling - through -

We cannot put Ourself away

As a completed Man

Or Woman - When the Errand's done

We came to Flesh - upon -

There may be - Miles on Miles of Nought -

Of Action - sicker far -

To simulate - is stinging work -

To cover what we are

From Science - and from Surgery -

Too Telescopic Eyes

To bear on us unshaded -

For their – sake - not for Our’s -

'Twould start them -

We - could tremble -

But since we got a Bomb -

And held it in our Bosom -

Nay - Hold it - it is calm -

 

Therefore - we do life's labor -

Though life's Reward - be done -

With scrupulous exactness -

To hold our Senses - on -

 

480

"Why do I love" You, Sir?

Because -

The Wind does not require the Grass

To answer - Wherefore when He pass

She cannot keep Her place.

 

Because He knows - and

Do not You -

And We know not -

Enough for Us

The Wisdom it be so -

 

The Lightning - never asked an Eye

Wherefore it shut - when He was by -

Because He knows it cannot speak -

And reasons not contained -

- Of Talk -

There be - preferred by Daintier Folk -

 

The Sunrise - Sire - compelleth Me -

Because He's Sunrise - and I see -

Therefore - Then -

I love Thee -