Dreams—are well—but Waking’s better, by Emily Dickinson

Dreams—are well—but Waking’s better

450

Dreams—are well—but Waking’s better,

If One wake at morn—

If One wake at Midnight—better—

Dreaming—of the Dawn—

Sweeter—the Surmising Robins—

Never gladdened Tree—

Than a Solid Dawn—confronting—

Leading to no Day—

268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow

286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —

527 To put this World down, like a Bu… And walk steady, away, Requires Energy—possibly Agony— ’Tis the Scarlet way

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—

485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—

265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!

373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,

568 We learned the Whole of Love— The Alphabet—the Words— A Chapter—then the mighty Book— Then—Revelation closed—

How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?

LXIII TALK with prudence to a beggar Of “Potosi” and the mines! Reverently to the hungry Of your viands and your wines!

311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—

301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?

82 Whose cheek is this? What rosy face Has lost a blush today? I found her—"pleiad"—in the woods

516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases

The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.