The Brain Within It’s Groove, par Emily Dickinson

The Brain Within It’s Groove

The brain within its groove

Runs evenly and true;

But let a splinter swerve,

‘T were easier for you

To put the water back

When floods have slit the hills,

And scooped a turnpike for themselves,

And blotted out the mills!

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688 “Speech”—is a prank of Parliament… “Tears”—is a trick of the nerve— But the Heart with the heaviest f… Doesn't—always—move—

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

603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East

Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -

XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,

Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

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

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

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

863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—

652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—

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

XXXIV WHO never lost, are unprepared A coronet to find; Who never thirsted, flagons And cooling tamarind.

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