He found my Being—set it up—, by Emily Dickinson

He found my Being—set it up—

603

He found my Being—set it up—

Adjusted it to place—

Then carved his name—upon it—

And bade it to the East

Be faithful—in his absence—

And he would come again—

With Equipage of Amber—

That time—to take it Home—

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117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—

IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;

828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—

635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;

902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—

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

46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,

523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—

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

Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away - Yesterday is Poetry - ’Tis Philosophy - Yesterday is mystery -