Written by
Emily Dickinson |
The murmuring of Bees, has ceased
But murmuring of some
Posterior, prophetic,
Has simultaneous come.
The lower metres of the Year
When Nature's laugh is done
The Revelations of the Book
Whose Genesis was June.
Appropriate Creatures to her change
The Typic Mother sends
As Accent fades to interval
With separating Friends
Till what we speculate, has been
And thoughts we will not show
More intimate with us become
Than Persons, that we know.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Yesterday is History,
'Tis so far away --
Yesterday is Poetry --
'Tis Philosophy --
Yesterday is mystery --
Where it is Today
While we shrewdly speculate
Flutter both away
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
The duties of the Wind are few,
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.
The pleasures of the Wind are broad,
To dwell Extent among,
Remain, or wander,
Speculate, or Forests entertain.
The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks
Azof -- the Equinox,
Also with Bird and Asteroid
A bowing intercourse.
The limitations of the Wind
Do he exist, or die,
Too wise he seems for Wakelessness,
However, know not i.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
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 Blue --
Life's Latitudes leant over -- full --
The Judgment perished -- too --
Why Bliss so scantily disburse --
Why Paradise defer --
Why Floods be served to Us -- in Bowls --
I speculate no more --
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