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Emily Dickinson

What if I say I shall not wait!

13 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
poetry, classic

What if I say I shall not wait!

What if I burst the fleshly Gate—

And pass, escaped—to thee!

There's a certain slant of light,

20 January 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
poetry, classic

There's a certain slant of light,

On winter afternoons,

That oppresses, like the weight

Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;

One Year ago—jots what?

13 December 2007
Vol. 7, No. 4
poetry, classic

Such Anniversary shall be—

Sometimes—not often—in Eternity—

When farther Parted, than the Common Woe—

Look—feed upon each other's faces—so—

In doubtful meal, if it be possible

Their Banquet's true—

Heart, we will forget him,

Heart, we will forget him,

   You and I, tonight!

You must forget the warmth he gave,

   I will forget the light.

I've got an arrow here;

I've got an arrow here;

      Loving the hand that sent it,

I the dart revere.

The Brain—is wider than the Sky—

25 December 2006
Vol. 6, No. 4
poetry, classic, rhyme

The Brain—is wider than the Sky—

For—put them side by side—

The one the other will contain

With ease—and You—beside—

I'll tell you how the Sun rose—

16 September 2005
Vol. 5, No. 3
poetry, classic

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—

Untouched by Morning—

And untouched by Noon—

Lie the meek members of the Resurrection—

Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone!

We play at Paste—

15 September 2005
Vol. 5, No. 3
poetry, classic

We play at Paste—

Till qualified, for Pearl—

Then, drop the Paste—

And deem ourself a fool—

The nearest Dream recedes—unrealized—

14 September 2005
Vol. 5, No. 3
poetry, classic

The Heaven we chase,

Like the June Bee—before the School Boy,

Invites the Race—

Stoops—to an easy Clover—

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—

13 September 2005
Vol. 5, No. 3
poetry, classic

But how he set—I know not—

There seemed a purple stile

That little Yellow boys and girls

Were climbing all the while—

Letter to Thomas Higginson on 15 April 1862

Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?

The Mind is so near itself—it cannot see, distinctly—and I have none to ask—

Books by Emily Dickinson:

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

Check Powell's Books

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