Poems by Emily Dickinson Part 57

XVIII.

THE SPIRIT.

'T is whiter than an Indian pipe, 'T is dimmer than a lace; No stature has it, like a fog, When you approach the place.

Not any voice denotes it here, Or intimates it there; A spirit, how doth it accost?

What customs hath the air?

This limitless hyperbole Each one of us shall be; 'T is drama, if (hypothesis) It be not tragedy!

XIX.

THE MONUMENT.

She laid her docile crescent down, And this mechanic stone Still states, to dates that have forgot, The news that she is gone.

So constant to its stolid trust, The shaft that never knew, It shames the constancy that fled Before its emblem flew.

XX.

Bless G.o.d, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast; Grant, G.o.d, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest.

Please G.o.d, might I behold him In epauletted white, I should not fear the foe then, I should not fear the fight.

XXI.

Immortal is an ample word When what we need is by, But when it leaves us for a time, 'T is a necessity.

Of heaven above the firmest proof We fundamental know, Except for its marauding hand, It had been heaven below.

XXII.

Where every bird is bold to go, And bees abashless play, The foreigner before he knocks Must thrust the tears away.

XXIII.

The grave my little cottage is, Where, keeping house for thee, I make my parlor orderly, And lay the marble tea,

For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite In strong society.

XXIV.

This was in the white of the year, That was in the green, Drifts were as difficult then to think As daisies now to be seen.

Looking back is best that is left, Or if it be before, Retrospection is prospect's half, Sometimes almost more.

XXV.

Sweet hours have perished here; This is a mighty room; Within its precincts hopes have played, -- Now shadows in the tomb.

XXVI.

Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a s.h.i.+ning place!

Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near!

The saints shall meet Our bashful feet.

My holiday shall be That they remember me;

My paradise, the fame That they p.r.o.nounce my name.