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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

They Dropped Like Flakes

They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
  Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the lune
  A wind with fingers goes.
 
They perished in the seamless grass,—
  No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
  Can summon every face

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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Autres oeuvres par Emily Dickinson...
The Butterfly Obtains

The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
 1
I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain (280)

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
 1
’Twas warm—at first—like Us—

519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
Adrift! a Little Boat Adrift!

30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
It would never be Common—more—I said

430 It would never be Common—more—I s… Difference—had begun— Many a bitterness—had been— But that old sort—was done—
After a Hundred Years

After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
 1
She Dwelleth in the Ground

671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
He Gave Away His Life

567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
His Feet Are Shod With Gauze

916 His Feet are shod with Gauze— His Helmet, is of Gold, His Breast, a Single Onyx With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
 1
Nature LXI. a little road not made man (647)

LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
For this—accepted Breath—

195 For this—accepted Breath— Through it—compete with Death— The fellow cannot touch this Crow… By it—my title take—
To Flee From Memory

To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
Will There Really Be a “Morning”?

101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
Life XXVI. the brain within its groove (556)

XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
 1
I Sometimes Drop It, for a Quick

708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
 1



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