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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828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—

864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.

444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—

XXVII BECAUSE I could not stop for D… He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality.

113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—

356 The Day that I was crowned Was like the other Days— Until the Coronation came— And then—'twas Otherwise—

760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—

247 What would I give to see his face… I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour… But that is not enough! Stop just a minute—let me think!

186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—

998 Best Things dwell out of Sight The Pearl—the Just—Our Thought. Most shun the Public Air Legitimate, and Rare—

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

491 While it is alive Until Death touches it While it and I lap one Air Dwell in one Blood

469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—

171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!

Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -