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In: Bibliomania·Poetry·American Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #12242.
This volume gathers three series of Emily Dickinson’s poems, presenting them in the order they appear in the original manuscript collections. The opening lines already signal Dickinson’s characteristic blend of cryptic dialogue and vivid metaphor, as she moves from a sleepy plea for an ending to a series of imagined letters, wild nights, and domestic scenes. The excerpts weave together intimate observations, a locked door, a solitary star, a hummingbird’s flight, with broader reflections on nature, love, and the passage of time. The text’s structure is episodic, each numbered piece offering a self‑contained vignette that nonetheless resonates with the others through recurring motifs of light, sound, and the tension between confinement and freedom.
Dickinson’s voice is unmistakably nineteenth‑century American, marked by compressed syntax, unconventional punctuation, and a lyrical intensity that borders on the ecstatic. Her style oscillates between the concrete (a robin’s early song) and the abstract (the “amber hand” of the moon), creating a tapestry that rewards readers who relish dense, imagistic poetry. Those drawn to introspective verse, to explorations of nature’s minutiae, or to the inventive formal experiments of a poet who reshaped American lyricism will find this collection compelling.
The opening · free to read
And then I go the furthest off To counteract a knock; Then draw my little letter forth And softly pick its lock.
Then, glancing narrow at the wall, And narrow at the floor, For firm conviction of a mouse Not exorcised before,
Peruse how infinite I am To -- no one that you know! And sigh for lack of heaven, -- but not The heaven the creeds bestow.
VII.
Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury!
Futile the winds To a heart in port, -- Done with the compass, Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee!
VIII.
AT HOME.
The night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single star, That often as a cloud it met Blew out itself for fear.
The wind pursued the little bush, And drove away the leaves November left; then clambered up And fretted in the eaves.
No squirrel went abroad; A dog's belated feet Like intermittent plush were heard Adown the empty street.
To feel if blinds be fast, And closer to the fire Her little rocking-chair to draw, And shiver for the poor,
The housewife's gentle task. "How pleasanter," said she Unto the sofa opposite, "The sleet than May -- no thee!"
IX.
POSSESSION.
Did the harebell loose her girdle To the lover bee, Would the bee the harebell hallow Much as formerly?
Did the paradise, persuaded, Yield her moat of pearl, Would the Eden be an Eden, Or the earl an earl?
X.
A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld, -- The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled.
But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies, -- Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
XI.
THE LOVERS.
The rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful.
Her fingers fumbled at her work, -- Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know,
Till opposite I spied a cheek That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes;
A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune, -- Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one.
XII.
In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, --
Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I, Upon an August day?
XIII.
The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands.
He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away.
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea, -- Obedient to the least command Thine eyes impose on me.
XIV.
He put the belt around my life, -- I heard the buckle snap, And turned away, imperial, My lifetime folding up Deliberate, as a duke would do A kingdom's title-deed, -- Henceforth a dedicated sort, A member of the cloud.
Yet not too far to come at call, And do the little toils That make the circuit of the rest, And deal occasional smiles To lives that stoop to notice mine And kindly ask it in, -- Whose invitation, knew you not For whom I must decline?
XV.
THE LOST JEWEL.
I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep."
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