My Life Closed Twice, par Emily Dickinson

My Life Closed Twice

My life closed twice before its close—

It yet remains to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

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793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—

A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,

178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.

656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—

LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.

22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—

917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—

How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?

The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—

895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.

His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.

564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?

316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—