Poeticous Logo
es
English Español Français Italiano
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

On a Columnar Self

789
 
On a Columnar Self—
How ample to rely
In Tumult—or Extremity—
How good the Certainty
 
That Lever cannot pry—
And Wedge cannot divide
Conviction—That Granitic Base—
Though None be on our Side—
 
Suffice Us—for a Crowd—
Ourself—and Rectitude—
And that Assembly—not far off
From furthest Spirit—God—

#Americans #Women #XIXCentury

¿Disfrutate esta lectura? ¡invítanos a un café!.
Tu ayuda nos permite existir.
Otras obras de Emily Dickinson...
This Consciousness That Is Aware

822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
 1
The Test of Love—is Death—

573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
God Made a Little Gentian

442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
Conscious Am I in my Chamber

679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
The inundation of the Spring

The inundation of the Spring Enlarges every soul - It sweeps the tenement away But leaves the Water whole - In which the soul at first estrang…
If the Foolish, Call Them “Flowers”

168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
 1
The Doomed—regard the Sunrise

294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
The Woodpecker

His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
 1
I Meant to Find Her When I Came

718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
They Leave Us With the Infinite

350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
 1
For Every Bird a Nest

143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
 2
Of Bronze — and Blaze —

319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
 1
Precious to Me—She still shall be—

727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
Only God—detect the Sorrow—

626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—
Success Is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host



Arriba