Poems by Emily Dickinson.doc

I never lost as much but twice,

And that was in the sod.

Twice have I stood a beggar

Before the door of God!

Angels –  twice descending

Reimbursed my store –

Burglar! Banker ­– Father!

I am poor once more!

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne’er succeed.

To comprehend a nektar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of Victory

As he defeated – dying –

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

I like a look of Agony,

Because I know it’s true –

Men do not sham Convulsion,

Nor simulate, a Throe –

The Eyes glaze once – and that is Death –

Impossible to feign

The Beads upon the Forehead

By homely Anguish strung.

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 –

        5

  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

        10

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

        15

  I could not see to see –.

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Des drew quivering and chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown  –

My Tippet – only Tulle

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads

Were toward Eternity –

A narrow Fellow in the Grass

Occasionally rides –

You may have met Him – did you not

His notice sudden is –

The Grass divides as with a Comb –

A spotted shaft is seen –

And then it closes at your feet

And opens further on –

He likes a Boggy Acre

A Floor too cool for corn –

Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot –

I more than once at Noon

Have passed, I thought, a Whip-lash

Unbraiding in the Sun

When stooping to secure it

It wrinkled, and was gone –

Several of Nature’s People

I know, and they know me –

I feel for them a transport

Of cordiality –

But never met this Fellow

Attended, or alone

Without a tighter breathing

And Zero at the Bone –