He forgot—and I—remembered—, by Emily Dickinson

He forgot—and I—remembered—

203

He forgot—and I—remembered—

’Twas an everyday affair—

Long ago as Christ and Peter—

“Warmed them” at the “Temple fire.”

“Thou wert with him”—quoth “the Damsel”?

“No”—said Peter, ’twasn’t me—

Jesus merely “looked” at Peter—

Could I do aught else—to Thee?

I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years

526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore

551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—

315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—

832 Soto! Explore thyself! Therein thyself shalt find The “Undiscovered Continent”— No Settler had the Mind.

325 Of Tribulation, these are They, Denoted by the White— The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Ran… Of Victors—designate—

782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—

LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,

924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—

734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—

Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.