Had we our senses, by Emily Dickinson

Had we our senses

But perhaps ’tis well they’re not at Home

So intimate with Madness

He’s liable with them

Had we the eyes without our Head—

How well that we are Blind—

We could not look upon the Earth—

So utterly unmoved—

1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.

I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad

283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by

Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet

188 Make me a picture of the sun— So I can hang it in my room— And make believe I’m getting warm When others call it “Day”!

To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,

When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee - When a Lover is an Owner Different is he - What he begged is then the Beggar…

We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,

140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—

XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.

918 Only a Shrine, but Mine— I made the Taper shine— Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may… Regard a Nun—

204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—

Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature

Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,

342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—