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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

I Cross Till I Am Weary

550
 
I cross till I am weary
A Mountain—in my mind—
More Mountains—then a Sea—
More Seas—And then
A Desert—find—
 
And My Horizon blocks
With steady—drifting—Grains
Of unconjectured quantity—
As Asiatic Rains—
 
Nor this—defeat my Pace—
It hinder from the West
But as an Enemy’s Salute
One hurrying to Rest—
 
What merit had the Goal—
Except there intervene
Faint Doubt—and far Competitor—
To jeopardize the Gain?
 
At last—the Grace in sight—
I shout unto my feet—
I offer them the Whole of Heaven
The instant that we meet—
 
They strive—and yet delay—
They perish—Do we die—
Or is this Death’s Experiment—
Reversed—in Victory?

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

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Altre opere di Emily Dickinson...
The Daisy Follows Soft the Sun

106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—
 1
The Hollows Round His Eager Eyes

955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
’Tis So Much Joy!

172 ’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much jo… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I, Have ventured all upon a throw!
Who Never Lost, Are Unprepared

73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!
There Is No Frigate Like a Book

There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
 2
My Wheel Is in the Dark

10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
 1
Over and Over, Like a Tune

367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
 1
The Day Came Slow

The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…
He Told a Homely Tale

763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
It Sifts From Leaden Sieves

311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
 1
Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre—

742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
Artists Wrestled Here!

110 Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose! Student of the Year!
A Great Hope Fell

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
I Haven’T Told my Garden Yet

50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
 1
She died – this was the way she died.

150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—



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