You Cannot Put a Fire Out, by Emily Dickinson

You Cannot Put a Fire Out

530

You cannot put a Fire out—

A Thing that can ignite

Can go, itself, without a Fan—

Upon the slowest Night—

You cannot fold a Flood—

And put it in a Drawer—

Because the Winds would find it out—

And tell your Cedar Floor—

This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed

The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied

1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.

VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

209 With thee, in the Desert— With thee in the thirst— With thee in the Tamarind wood— Leopard breathes—at last!

XL I NEVER lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!

586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—

578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,

91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—

598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.

94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?

173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!

99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.

Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine