Emily Dickinson

And now We roam +in
Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe _
And every time I speak
for Him
The Mountains straight reply -

And do I smile, such
Cordial light
Upon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through

And when at Night – Our
Good Day done -
I guard My Master’s Head -
‘Tis better than the Eider
Duck’s
+Deep Pillow – to have shared -

To foe of His – I’m deadly
foe
None +stir the second time
On whom I lay a Yellow
Eye -
Or an emphatic Thumb -

Though I than He – may
longer live
He longer must – than I -
For I have but the +power
to kill
Without – the power to die -

+the +low +harm +art

Go here for an explanation for this section.

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you-Nobody-Too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! They'd banish us-you know!

How dreary-to be-Somebody!
How public-like a Frog--
To tell one's name-the livelong June--
To an admiring Bog!

****

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me--
The simple News that Nature told--
With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see--
For love of Her-Sweet-countrymen--
Judge tenderly-of Me

****

Of Course-I prayed--
And did God Care?
He cared as mush as on the Air
A Bird-had stamped her foot--
And cried "Give Me"--
My Reason-Life--
I had not had-but for Yourself--
'Twere better Charity
To leave me in the Atom's Tomb--
Merry, and Nought, and gay, and numb--
Than this smart Misery.

****

I had no time to Hate--
Because
The Grave would hinder Me--
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish-Enmity--

Nor had I time to Love--
But since
Some Industry must be--
The little Toil of Love--
I thought--
Be large enough for Me--

****

I reckon-when I count at all--
First-Poets-Then the Sun--
Then Summer-Then the Heaven of God--
And then-the List is done--

But, looking back-the First so seems
To Comprehend the Whole--
The Others look a needless Show--
So I write-Poets-All--

Their Summer-lasts a Solid Year--
They can afford a Sun
The East-would deem extravagant--
And if the Further Heaven--

Be Beautiful as they prepare
For Those who worship Them--
It is too difficult a Grace--
To justify the Dream--

****

Much madness is divinest Sense--
To a discerning Eye--
Much Sense-the starkest Madness--
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail--
Assent-and you are sane--
Demure-you're straightway dangerous--
And handled with a Chain--

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