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Dickinson Poems by Number


One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There's only one recorded, But both belong to me.
One came the road that I came— And wore my last year's gown— The other, as a bird her nest, Builded our hearts among.
She did not sing as we did— It was a different tune— Herself to her a music As Bumble bee of June.
Today is far from Childhood— But up and down the hills I held her hand the tighter— Which shortened all the miles— And still her hum The years among, Deceives the Butterfly; Still in her Eye The Violets lie Mouldered this many May.
I spilt the dew— But took the morn— I chose this single star From out the wide night's numbers— Sue—forevermore! 67 Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar 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! 84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a "Diver"— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home— I—a Sparrow—build there Sweet of twigs and twine My perennial nest.
211 Come slowly—Eden! Lips unused to Thee— Bashful—sip thy Jessamines— As the fainting Bee— Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums— Counts his nectars— Enters—and is lost in Balms.
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly? Did the "Paradise"—persuaded— Yield her moat of pearl— Would the Eden be an Eden, Or the Earl—an Earl? 214 A taste a liquor never brewed— From Tankards scooped in Pearl— Not all the Vats on the Rhine Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of Air—am I— And Debauchee of Dew— Reeling—thro endless summer days— From inns of Molten Blue— When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee Out the Foxglove's door— When Butterflies—renounce their "drams"— I shall but drink the more! Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats— And Saints—to windows run— To see the little Tippler Leaning against the—Sun— 249 Wild Nights—Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile—the Winds— To a heart in port— Done with the Compass— Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden— Ah, the Sea! Might I but moor—Tonight— In Thee! 253 You see I cannot see—your lifetime— I must guess— How many times it ache for me—today—Confess— How many times for my far sake The brave eyes film— But I guess guessing hurts— Mine—get so dim! Too vague—the face— My own—so patient—covers— Too far—the strength— My timidness enfolds— Haunting the Heart— Like her translated faces— Teasing the want— It—only—can suffice! 271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me fit— Her blameless mystery— A hallowed thing—to drop a life Into the purple well— Too plummetless—that it return— Eternity—until— I pondered how the bliss would look— And would it feel as big— When I could take it in my hand— As hovering—seen—through fog— And then—the size of this "small" life— The Sages—call it small— Swelled—like Horizons—in my vest— And I sneered—softly—"small"! 280 I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it seemed That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum— Kept beating—beating—till I thought My Mind was going numb And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space—began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here— And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down— And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing—then— 288 I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you—Nobody—Too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd advertise—you know! How dreary—to be—Somebody! How public—like a Frog— To tell one's name—the livelong June— To an admiring Bog! 303 The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pausing— At her low Gate— Unmoved—an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat— I've known her—from an ample nation— Choose One— Then—close the Valves of her attention— Like Stone— 315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees— Prepares your brittle Nature 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— When Winds take Forests in their Paws— The Universe—is still— 324 Some keep the Sabbath going to Church— I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice— I just wear my Wings— And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton—sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman— And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last— I'm going, all along.
326 I cannot dance upon my Toes— No Man instructed me— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me, That had I Ballet knowledge— Would put itself abroad In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe— Or lay a Prima, mad, And though I had no Gown of Gauze— No Ringlet, to my Hair, Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds, One Claw upon the Air, Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls, Nor rolled on wheels of snow Till I was out of sight, in sound, The House encore me so— Nor any know I know the Art I mention—easy—Here— Nor any Placard boast me— It's full as Opera— 341 After great pain, a formal feeling comes— The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs— The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round— Or Ground, or Air, or Ought— A Wooden way Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone— This is the Hour of Lead— Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow— First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go— 441 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.
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense From the familiar species That perished by the Door— We wonder it was not Ourselves— Arrested it—before— Of Pictures, the Discloser— The Poet—it is He— Entitles Us—by Contrast— To ceaseless Poverty— Of Portion—so unconscious— The Robbing—could not harm— Himself—to Him—a Fortune— Exterior—to Time— 466 'Tis little I—could care for Pearls— Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me— Or Gold—who am the Prince of Mines— Or Diamonds—when have I A Diadem to fit a Dome— Continual upon me— 474 They put Us far apart— As separate as Sea And Her unsown Peninsula— We signified "These see"— They took away our Eyes— They thwarted Us with Guns— "I see Thee" each responded straight Through Telegraphic Signs— With Dungeons—They devised— But through their thickest skill— And their opaquest Adamant— Our Souls saw—just as well— They summoned Us to die— With sweet alacrity We stood upon our stapled feet— Condemned—but just—to see— Permission to recant— Permission to forget— We turned our backs upon the Sun For perjury of that— Not Either—noticed Death— Of Paradise—aware— Each other's Face—was all the Disc Each other's setting—saw— 479 She dealt her pretty words like Blades— How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone— She never deemed—she hurt— That—is not Steel's Affair— A vulgar grimace in the Flesh— How ill the Creatures bear— To Ache is human—not polite— The Film upon the eye Mortality's old Custom— Just locking up—to Die.
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Book— And one Geranium— So stationed I could catch the Mint That never ceased to fall— And just my Basket— Let me think—I'm sure That this was all— I never spoke—unless addressed— And then, 'twas brief and low— I could not bear to live—aloud— The Racket shamed me so— And if it had not been so far— And any one I knew Were going—I had often thought How noteless—I could die— 536 The Heart asks Pleasure—first— And then—Excuse from Pain— And then—those little Adonynes That deaden suffering— And then—to go to sleep— And then—if it should be The will of its Inquisitor The privilege to die— 601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight— A quiet—Earthquake Style— Too subtle to suspect By natures this side Naples— The North cannot detect The Solemn—Torrid—Symbol— The lips that never lie— Whose hissing Corals part—and shut— And Cities—ooze away— 613 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— 652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes— We come to look with gratitude For the appointed Beam It deal us—stated as our food— And hungered for—the same— We learn to know the Planks— That answer to Our feet— So miserable a sound—at first— Nor ever now—so sweet— As plashing in the Pools— When Memory was a Boy— But a Demurer Circuit— A Geometric Joy— The Posture of the Key That interrupt the Day To Our Endeavor—Not so real The Cheek of Liberty— As this Phantasm Steel— Whose features—Day and Night— Are present to us—as Our Own— And as escapeless—quite— The narrow Round—the Stint— The slow exchange of Hope— For something passiver—Content Too steep for looking up— The Liberty we knew Avoided—Like a Dream— Too wide for any Night but Heaven— If That—indeed—redeem— 680 Each Life Converges to some Centre— Expressed—or still— Exists in every Human Nature A Goal— Embodied scarcely to itself—it may be— Too fair For Credibility's presumption To mar— Adored with caution—as a Brittle Heaven— To reach Were hopeless, as the Rainbow's Raiment To touch— Yet persevered toward—sure—for the Distance— How high— Unto the Saints' slow diligence— The Sky— Ungained—it may be—by a Life's low Venture— But then— Eternity enable the endeavoring Again.
732 She rose to His Requirement—dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife— If ought She missed in Her new Day, Of Amplitude, or Awe— Or first Prospective—Or the Gold In using, wear away, It lay unmentioned—as the Sea Develop Pearl, and Weed, But only to Himself—be known The Fathoms they abide— 754 My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign 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 no longer live He longer must—than I— For I have but the power to kill, Without—the power to die— 829 Ample make this Bed— Make this Bed with Awe— In it wait till Judgment break Excellent and Fair.
Be its Mattress straight— Be its Pillow round— Let no Sunrise' yellow noise Interrupt this Ground— 986 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— 1027 My Heart upon a little Plate Her Palate to delight A Berry or a Bun, would be, Might it an Apricot! 1129 Tell all the Truth but tell it slant— Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind— 1705 Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography— Volcanos nearer here A Lava step at any time Am I inclined to climb— A Crater I may contemplate Vesuvius at home.
1737 Rearrange a "Wife's" affection! When they dislocate my Brain! Amputate my freckled Bosom! Make me bearded like a man! Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness— Blush, my unacknowledged clay— Seven years of troth have taught thee More than Wifehood ever may! Love that never leaped its socket— Trust entrenched in narrow pain— Constancy thro fire—awarded— Anguish—bare of anodyne! Burden—borne so far triumphant— None suspect me of the crown, For I wear the "Thorns" till Sunset— Then—my Diadem put on.
Big my Secret but it's bandaged— It will never get away Till the Day it's Weary Keeper Leads it through the Grave to thee.

Poem by Emily Dickinson
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