As by the Dead We Love to Sit, by Emily Dickinson

As by the Dead We Love to Sit

As by the dead we love to sit,

Become so wondrous dear—

As for the lost we grapple

Tho’ all the rest are here—

In broken mathematics

We estimate our prize

Vast—in its fading ration

To our penurious eyes!

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457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—

98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!

879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.

118 My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist!

205 I should not dare to leave my frie… Because—because if he should die While I was gone—and I—too late— Should reach the Heart that wante…

349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—

741 Drama’s Vitallest Expression is t… That arise and set about Us— Other Tragedy Perish in the Recitation—

XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.

695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -

462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed

483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—

117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.

29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—

801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold