The Dupont Circle Reading Railroad Message Board › Poems for Emily Dickinson meetup next week

Poems for Emily Dickinson meetup next week

user 25869962
Brooklyn, NY

I wanted to send the list of Emily Dickinson poems we'll discuss for next week. Please feel free to bring additional poems on Sunday-- but this list should start us off.

HUGE THANKS TO LISA for identifying these poems!!

Also, if you're on the waiting list for the event, please feel free to attend anyways! We only limit the group size so the actual event doesn't get out of control. :)





# 6
Frequently the woods are pink –
Frequently are brown.
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.
Oft a head is crested
I was wont to see –
And as oft a cranny
Where it used to be –
And the Earth –they tell me –
On its Axis turned!
Wonderful Rotation!
By but twelve performed!

And something in a summer’s day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon –
A depth – an Azure – a perfume –
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see –
Then veil my too inspecting face
Les such a subtle – shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me –
The wizard fingers never rest –
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed –
Still rears the East her amber Flag –
Guides still the Sun along the Crag
His Caravan of red –
So looking on – the night – the morn
Conclude the wonder gay
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!

# 125
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ectasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years –
Bitter contested farthings –
And Coffers heaped with Tears!

To learn the Transport by the Pain –
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst –suspecting!
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick –homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore –
Haunted by native lands, the while –
And blue – beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This-the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices –trained –below –
Ascend in ceaseless Carol –
Inaudible, indeed,
To us –the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
I have never seen “Volcanoes” –
But, when Travellers tell
How those old – phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still –
Bear within – appalling Ordnance
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men –
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
Where upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place –
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome –
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii!”
To the Hills return!

# 215
What is – “Paradise” –
Who live there –
Are they “Farmers” –
Do they “hoe” –
Do they know that this is “Amherst”
And that I – am coming – too –
Do they wear “new shoes” – in “Eden” –
Is it always pleasant –there—
Won’t they scold us –when we’re homesick –
Or tell God—how cross we are –
You are sure there’s such a person
As “a Father” – in the sky –
So if I get lost –there –ever –
Or do what the Nurse calls “die” –
I shant walk the “Jasper” –barefoot—
Ransomed folks –won’t laugh at me—
Maybe –“Eden” a’n’t so lonesome
As New England used to be!

A single Screw of Flesh
Is all that pins the Soul
That stands for Deity, to Mine,
Upon my side the Veil –
Once witnessed of the Gauze—
Its name is put away
As far from mine, as if no plight
Had printed yesterday,
In tender –solemn Alphabet,
My eyes just turned to see,
When it was smuggled by my sight
Into Eternity—
More hands –to hold—These are but Two –
One more new-mailed Nerve
Just granted, for the Peril’s sake –
Some striding –Giant—Love—
So greater than the Gods can show,

They slink before the Clay,
That not for all their heaven can boast
Will let its Keepsake—go

I should have been too glad, I see –
Too lifted –for the scant degree
Of Life’s penurious Round –
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference – have blamed—
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved –I see –
Too rescued –Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect –yesterday-
That Scalding One-Sabachthani –
Recited in fluent –here—
Earth would have been too much –I see—
And Heaven –not enough for me—
I should have had the Joy
Without the Fear—to justify—
The Palm—without the Calvary—
So Savior—Crucify
Defeat-whets Victory—they say—
The Reefs – in old Gethsemane—
Endear the Coast-beyound!
‘Tis Beggars-Banquets-can define—
‘Tis Parching-vitalizes Wine—
“Faith” bleats—to understand!

He fumbles at your Soul
As Player at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on –
He stuns you by degrees –
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainters 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 –
When Winds take Forests in their Paws –
The Universe –is still –

The Wind didn’t come from the Orchard—today—
Further than that –
Nor stop to play with the Hay –
Nor joggle a Hat –
He’s a transitive fellow –very—
Rely on that –
If He leave a Bur at the door
We know He has climbed a Fir –
But the Fir is Where-Declare—
Were you ever there?
If He brings Odors of Clovers—
And that is His Business-not Ours—
Then He has been with the Mowers
Whetting away the Hours
To sweet pauses of Hay –
His Way—of a June Day—
If He fling Sand, and Pebble –
Little Boys Hats—and Stubble –
With an occasional Steeple –
And a hoarse “Get out of the way, I say,”
Who’d be the fool to stay?
Would you –Say—
Would you be the fool to stay?

Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,
There’s not a Charge to me
Like that old measure in the Boughs—
That phraseless Melody—
The Wind does-working like a Hand,
Whose fingers Comb the Sky—
Then quiver down –with tufts of Tune—
Permitted Gods, and me—
Inheritance, it is, to us—
Beyond the Art of Earn—
By Robber, since the Gain
Is gotten not of fingers—
And inner than the Bone—
Hid golden, for the whole of Days,
And even in the Urn,
I cannot vouch the merry Dust
Do not arise and play
In some off fashion of its own,
Some quainter Holiday,
When Winds go round and round in Bands –
And thrum upon the door,
And Birds take places, overhead,
To bear them Orchestra.
I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,
If such an Outcast be—
Who never heard that fleshless Chant—
Rise—solemn—on the Tree,
As if some Caravan of Sound
Off Deserts, in the Sky,
Had parted Rank,
Then knit, and swept—
In Seamless Company—

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—
With Blue-uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see –
To interrupt His yellow Plan
The Sun does not allow
Caprices of the Atmosphere –
And even when the Snow
Heaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy
Directly in His Eye –
Does not so much as turn His Head
Busy with Majesty –
‘Tis His to stimulate the Earth –
And magnetize the Sea –
And bind Astronomy, in place
Yet Any passing by
Would deem Ourselves—the busier
As the Minutest Bee
That rides—emits a Thunder—
A Bomb-to justify –

I see thee better—in the Dark—
I do not need a Light—
The Love of Thee—a Prism be__
Excelling Violet –
I see thee better for the Years
That hunch themselves between—
The Miner’s Lamp—sufficient be—
To nullify the Mine—
And in the Grave—I see Thee best—
Its little Panels be
Aglow—All ruddy—with the Light
I held so high, for Thee –
What need of Day –
To Those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—
It deem it be-Continually –
At the Meridian?

They shut me up in Prose—
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet—
Because they liked me “still” –
Still! Could themselves 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 –

I’ve dropped my Brain—My Soul is numb—
The veins that used to run
Stop palsied—‘tis Paralysis
Done perfecter on stone
Vitality is Carved and cool.
My nerve in Marble lies –
A Breathing Woman
Yesterday—Endowed with Paradise.
Not dumb—I had a sort that moved –
A Sense that smote and stirred—
Instincts for Dance—a caper part—
An Aptitude for Bird—
Whou wrought Carrara in me
And chiseled all my tune
Were it a Witchcraft-were it Death—
I’ve still a chance to strain
To being, somewhere—Motion-Breath—
Though Centuries beyond,
And every limit a Decade—
I’ll shiver, satisfied
Your thought don’t have words every day
They come a single time
Like signal esoteric sips
Of the communion Wine
Which while you taste so native seems
So easy so to be
You cannot comprehend its price
Nor its infrequency

The Bible is antique Volume—
Written by faded Men
At the suggestion of Holy Spectres—
Eden—the ancient Homestead –
Satan –the Brigadier –
Judas—The Great Defaulter –
David—The Troubadour
Sin—a distinguished Precipice
Others must resist—
Boys that “believe” are very lonesome—
Other boys are “lost”—
Had but the tale a warbling Teller –
All the Boys would come –
Orpheus’ Sermon captivated –
It did not condemn

Hope is a subtle Glutton
He feeds upon the Fair –
And yet--inspected closely
What Abstinence is there –
His is the Halcyon Table—
That never seats but one—
And whatsoever is consumed
That same amount remain

To her derided Home
A Weed of Summer came –
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy’s Name—
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a flameless flower—
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower –
Of Bliss the Codes are few—
As Jesus cites of Him –
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim --
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