Poems by Emily Dickinson Part 48

Softened by Time's consummate plush, How sleek the woe appears That threatened childhood's citadel And undermined the years!

Bisected now by bleaker griefs, We envy the despair That devastated childhood's realm, So easy to repair.

II. LOVE.

I.

CONSECRATION.

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy pa.s.sion, my humility.

II.

LOVE'S HUMILITY.

My worthiness is all my doubt, His merit all my fear, Contrasting which, my qualities Do lowlier appear;

Lest I should insufficient prove For his beloved need, The chiefest apprehension Within my loving creed.

So I, the undivine abode Of his elect content, Conform my soul as 't were a church Unto her sacrament.

III.

LOVE.

Love is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

IV.

SATISFIED.

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 hue.

Life's lat.i.tude leant over-full; The judgment perished, too.

Why joys so scantily disburse, Why Paradise defer, Why floods are served to us in bowls, -- I speculate no more.

V.

WITH A FLOWER.

When roses cease to bloom, dear, And violets are done, When b.u.mble-bees in solemn flight Have pa.s.sed beyond the sun,

The hand that paused to gather Upon this summer's day Will idle lie, in Auburn, -- Then take my flower, pray!

VI.

SONG.

Summer for thee grant I may be When summer days are flown!

Thy music still when whippoorwill And oriole are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb And sow my blossoms o'er!

Pray gather me, Anemone, Thy flower forevermore!

VII.

LOYALTY.

Split the lark and you'll find the music, Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, Scantily dealt to the summer morning, Saved for your ear when lutes be old.

Loose the flood, you shall find it patent, Gush after gush, reserved for you; Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas, Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?