Dreams—are well—but Waking’s better, di 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—

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

532 I tried to think a lonelier Thing Than any I had seen— Some Polar Expiation—An Omen in… Of Death’s tremendous nearness—

IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.

871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—

God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly

A Sloop of Amber slips away Upon an Ether Sea, And wrecks in Peace a Purple Tar… The Son of Ecstasy -

Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest

388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen

CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.

617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—

406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—

653 Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens—upon—

687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—

338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.