Search Results for: poetry at work

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXXVII. If I Shouldn’t Be Alive If I shouldn’t be alive When the robins come, Give the one in red cravat A memorial crumb. If I couldn’t thank you, Being just asleep, You will know I’m trying With my granite lip! -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations of “If I […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXXVI. I Lost a World the Other Day LOST. I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You’ll know it by the row of stars Around its forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; Yet to my frugal eye Of more esteem than ducats. Oh, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXXV. No Rack Can Torture Me EMANCIPATION. No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. The eagle of his nest […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXXI. Death Is a Dialogue 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. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXX. Except To Heaven She Is Nought 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, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXV. The Sun Kept Setting 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXIII. I Reason, Earth is Short 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXII. The Bustle of a House 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. -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations of “The Bustle […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XX. The Last Night That She Lived 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIX. To Know Just How He Suffered 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVIII. Playmates 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! -Emily Dickinson Enjoy Artistic Representations of “Playmates” by Emily Dickinson […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XVII. I Never Saw A Moor 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 […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XV. I’ve Seen a Dying Eye I’ve seen a dying eye Run round and round a room In search of something, as it seemed, Then cloudier become; And then, obscure with fog, And then be soldered down, Without disclosing what it be, ‘T were blessed to have seen. -Emily […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XIV. I Went to Thank Her I went to thank her, But she slept; Her bed a funnelled stone, With nosegays at the head and foot, That travellers had thrown, Who went to thank her; But she slept. ‘T was short to cross the sea To look upon her […]