USB Emily Dickinson
A prison gets to be a friend A PRISON gets to be a friend—
Between its Ponderous face
And Ours—a Kinsmanship express—
And in its narrow Eyes—
We come to look with gratitude 5 For the appointed Beam
It deal us—stated as our food—
And hungered for—the same—
We learn to know the Planks—
That answer to Our feet— 10 So miserable a sound—at first—
Nor ever now—so sweet—
As plashing in the Pools—
When Memory was a Boy—
But a Demurer Circuit— 15 A Geometric Joy—
The Posture of the Key
That interrupt the Day
To Our Endeavor—Not so real
The Check of Liberty— 20
As this Phantasm Steel—
Whose features—Day and Night—
Are present to us—as Our Own—
And as escapeless—quite—
The narrow Round—the Stint— 25 The slow exchange of Hope—
For something passiver—Content
Too steep for lookinp up—
The Liberty we knew
Avoided—like a Dream— 35 Too wide for any Night but Heaven—
A word dropped careless on a page
A WORD dropped careless on a page
May stimulate an eye
When folded in perpetual seam the wrinkled maker lie.
Infection in the sentence breeds. 5
We may inhale despair
at distances of centuries
from the malaria.
Because I could not stop for death Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.
I gave myself to him
I GAVE myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way.
5 The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love
Depreciate the vision;
10 But, till the merchant buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, ’t is mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
15 Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe, Insolvent, every noon.
I have been hungry all the year
I had been hungry, all the Years— My Noon had Come—to dine—
I trembling drew the Table near— And touched the Curious Wine—
’Twas this on Tables I had seen—
When turning, hungry, Home
I looked in Windows, for the Wealth
I could not hope—for Mine—
I did not know the ample Bread— ’Twas so unlike the Crumb
The Birds and I, had often shared
In Nature’s—Dining Room—
The Plenty hurt me—’twas so new— Myself felt ill—and odd—
As Berry—of a Mountain Bush—
Transplanted—to a Road—
Nor was I hungry—so I found That Hunger—was a way Of Persons outside Windows—
The Entering—takes away—
This is my letter to the world
THIS is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
5 Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!