Sexton! my Master’s Sleeping Here, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Sexton! my Master’s Sleeping Here

Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.

Pray lead me to his bed!

I came to build the Bird’s nest,

And sow the Early seed—

That when the snow creeps slowly

From off his chamber door—

Daisies point the way there—

And the Troubadour.

#AmericanWriters

Liked or faved by...

Other works by Emily Dickinson...

I never felt at Home–Below–

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

He Fumbles at Your Spirit

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance

There Is a Shame of Nobleness

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

Artists Wrestled Here!

110 Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose! Student of the Year!

Are Friends Delight Or Pain

Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away

Life XLVII. Is Heaven a physician?

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

Is it dead—Find it—

417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?

A Doubt If It Be Us

859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.

’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou

908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—

Nature LX. The grass so little has to do

LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,

A First Mute Coming

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

You’ll know Her—by Her Foot—

634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—

T Was Just This Time Last Year I Died.

‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look

Life XIV. The Secret (89)

XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—

All Men for Honor Hardest Work

All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -

Emily Dickinson