Kilmer On Dickinson

I think that I shall never see As lovely a dichotomy -- Soul serene, secure in beauty, Fearful, though, of social duty, Thoughtful lover, unrequited By your own predisposition, Home alone with Truth united -- A modern metaphysician. Passions rage; you arrange a truce Between your sparrows and your snakes. Soul-searching makes you a recluse, Lost in imaginary wakes. Dressing Vision in Fantasy’s clothes, Your poems make Heaven from Hell. Through loneliness and mortal woes, Your spirit gets on very well. You, nobody? It’s just not true! Sweet Emily, we all know you.