Poems (Series 3) / by Emily Dickinson [electronic text]

II.
LOVE.

I.
CONSECRATION.

PROUD of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

II.
LOVE'S HUMILITY.

MY worthiness is all my doubt, His merit all my fear, Contrasting which, my qualities Do lowlier appear;

Lest I should insufficient prove For his beloved need, The chiefest apprehension Within my loving creed.

So I, the undivine abode Of his elect content, Conform my soul as 't were a church Unto her sacrament.

III.
LOVE.

LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

IV.
SATISFIED.

ONE blessing had I, than the rest So larger to my eyes That I stopped gauging, satisfied, For this enchanted size.

It was the limit of my dream, The focus of my prayer, —A perfect, paralyzing bliss Contented as despair.

I knew no more of want or cold, Phantasms both become, For this new value in the soul, Supremest earthly sum.

The heaven below the heaven above Obscured with ruddier hue. Life's latitude leant over-full; The judgment perished, too.

Why joys so scantily disburse, Why Paradise defer, Why floods are served to us in bowls, —I speculate no more.

V.
WITH A FLOWER.

WHEN roses cease to bloom, dear, And violets are done, When bumble-bees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the sun,

The hand that paused to gather Upon this summer's day Will idle lie, in Auburn, — Then take my flower, pray!

VI.
SONG.

SUMMER for thee grant I may be When summer days are flown! Thy music still when whippoorwill And oriole are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tombAnd sow my blossoms o'er! Pray gather me, Anemone, Thy flower forevermore!

VII.
LOYALTY.

SPLIT the lark and you'll find the music, Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, Scantily dealt to the summer morning, Saved for your ear when lutes be old.

Loose the flood, you shall find it patent, Gush after gush, reserved for you; Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas, Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?

VIII.

TO lose thee, sweeter than to gain All other hearts I knew. 'T is true the drought is destitute, But then I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand, Its other realm of sea; Without the sterile perquisite No Caspian could be.

IX.

POOR little heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Proud little heart! Did they forsake thee? Be debonair! Be debonair!

Frail little heart!I would not break thee: Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me?

Gay little heart! Like morning glory Thou'll wilted be; thou'll wilted be!

X.
FORGOTTEN.

THERE is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables,— At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its noiseless onset, There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman! The most accomplished shot! Time's sublimest target Is a soul 'forgot'!

XI.

I'VE got an arrow here; Loving the hand that sent it, I the dart revere.

Fell, they will say, in 'skirmish'! Vanquished, my soul will know, By but a simple arrow Sped by an archer's bow.

XII.
THE MASTER.

HE fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow, By fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten, Your brain to bubble cool, —Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.

XIII.

HEART, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him!

XIV.

FATHER, I bring thee not myself, — That were the little load; I bring thee the imperial heart I had not strength to hold.

The heart I cherished in my own Till mine too heavy grew, Yet strangest, heavier since it went, Is it too large for you?

XV.

WE outgrow love like other thingsAnd put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.

XVI.

NOT with a club the heart is broken, Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see it. I've known

To lash the magic creature Till it fell, Yet that whip's name too noble Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird By boy descried, To sing unto the stone Of which it died.

XVII.
WHO?

MY friend must be a bird, Because it flies! Mortal my friend must be, Because it dies! Barbs has it, like a bee. Ah, curious friend, Thou puzzlest me!

XVIII.

HE touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast. It was a boundless place to me, And silenced, as the awful sea Puts minor streams to rest.

And now, I'm different from before, As if I breathed superior air, Or brushed a royal gown; My feet, too, that had wandered so, My gypsy face transfigured now To tenderer renown.

XIX.
DREAMS.

LET me not mar that perfect dream By an auroral stain, But so adjust my daily night That it will come again.

XX.
NUMEN LUMEN.

I LIVE with him, I see his face; I go no more away For visitor, or sundown; Death's single privacy,

The only one forestaling mine, And that by right that he Presents a claim invisible, No wedlock granted me.

I live with him, I hear his voice, I stand alive to-day To witness to the certainty Of immortality

Taught me by Time, — the lower way, Conviction every day, — That life like this is endless, Be judgment what it may.

XXI.
LONGING.

I ENVY seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills

That gaze upon his journey; How easy all can see What is forbidden utterly As heaven, unto me!

I envy nests of sparrows That dot his distant eaves, The wealthy fly upon his pane, The happy, happy leaves

That just abroad his window Have summer's leave to be, The earrings of Pizarro Could not obtain for me.

I envy light that wakes him, And bells that boldly ring To tell him it is noon abroad, —Myself his noon could bring,

Yet interdict my blossom And abrogate my bee, Lest noon in everlasting night Drop Gabriel and me.

XXII.
WEDDED.

A SOLEMN thing it was, I said, A woman white to be, And wear, if God should count me fit, Her hallowed mystery.

A timid thing to drop a life Into the purple well, Too plummetless that it come back Eternity until.