I Held a Jewel in my Fingers, di Emily Dickinson

I Held a Jewel in my Fingers

I held a Jewel in my fingers’—

And went to sleep’—

The day was warm, and winds were prosy’—

I said 'Twill keep’—

I woke’—and chid my honest fingers,

The Gem was gone’—

And now, an Amethyst remembrance

Is all I own’—

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Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology

642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —

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

472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

CXII I FELT a funeral in my brain, And mourners, to and fro, Kept treading, treading, till it s… That sense was breaking through.

851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race

229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near

89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—

78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—

786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—

810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.

623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—

Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—

950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—

The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend