Had we our senses, di 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—

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14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.

A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds

163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—

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

XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.

410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!

663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—

A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.

702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—

425 Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?

46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.

We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…