Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

519 This is my letter to the World

That never wrote to Me –

The simple News that Nature told –

With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed

To Hands I cannot see –

For love of Her – Sweet – Countrymen –

Judge tenderly – of Me [1863]

236 Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along. [1861]

207 I taste a liquor never brewed –

From Tankards scooped in Pearl –

Not all the Frankfort Berries

Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air – am I –

And Debauchee of Dew –

Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –

From inns of molten Blue –

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee

Out of the Foxglove’s door –

When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –

I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy Hats –

And Saints – to windows run –

To see the little Tippler

Leaning against the – Sun! [1861]

171 A fuzzy fellow, without feet –

Yet doth exceeding run!

Of velvet, is his Countenance –

And his complexion, dun!

Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!

Sometime, opon a bough,

From which he doth descend in plush

Opon the Passer-by!

All this in summer –

But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,

He taketh Damask Residence –

And struts in sewing silk!

Then, finer than a Lady,

Emerges in the spring!

A Feather on each shoulder!

You’d scarce recognize him!

By men, yclept Caterpillar!

By me! But who am I,

To tell the pretty secret

Of the Butterfly! [1860]

1523 How soft a Caterpillar steps –

I find one on my Hand

From such a Velvet world it came –

Such plushes at command

It’s soundless travels just arrest

My slow – terrestrial eye –

Intent opon it’s own career –

What use has it for me – [1880]

1668 Apparently with no surprise

To any happy Flower

The Frost beheads it at it’s play –

In accidental power –

The blonde Assassin passes on –

The Sun proceeds unmoved

To measure off another Day

For an Approving God – [1884]


1096 A narrow Fellow in the Grass

Occasionally rides –

You may have met him? Did you not

His notice instant is –

The Grass divides as with a Comb –

A spotted Shaft is seen,

And then it closes at your Feet

And opens further on –

He likes a Boggy Acre –

A floor too cool for Corn –

But when a Boy and Barefoot

I more than once at Noon

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash

Unbraiding in the Sun

When stooping to secure it

It wrinkled And was gone –

Several of Nature’s People

I know and they know me

I feel for them a transport

Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow

Attended or alone

Without a tighter Breathing

And Zero at the Bone. [1865]

1780 Sweet is the swamp with it’s secrets,

Until we meet a snake;

’Tis then we sigh for houses,

And our departure take

At that enthralling gallop

That only childhood knows.

A snake is nature’s treason,

And awe is where it goes.