Poems of Emily Dickinson, series 2 | Page 9

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."
I woke and chid my honest fingers, --?The gem was gone;?And now an amethyst remembrance?Is all I own.
XVI.
What if I say I shall not wait??What if I burst the fleshly gate?And pass, escaped, to thee??What if I file this mortal off,?See where it hurt me, -- that 's enough, --?And wade in liberty?
They cannot take us any more, --?Dungeons may call, and guns implore;?Unmeaning now, to me,?As laughter was an hour ago,?Or laces, or a travelling show,?Or who died yesterday!
III.
NATURE.
I.
MOTHER NATURE.
Nature, the gentlest mother,?Impatient of no child,?The feeblest or the waywardest, --?Her admonition mild
In forest and the hill?By traveller is heard,?Restraining rampant squirrel?Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,?A summer afternoon, --?Her household, her assembly;?And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aisles?Incites the timid prayer?Of the minutest cricket,?The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep?She turns as long away?As will suffice to light her lamps;?Then, bending from the sky
With infinite affection?And infiniter care,?Her golden finger on her lip,?Wills silence everywhere.
II.
OUT OF THE MORNING.
Will there really be a morning??Is there such a thing as day??Could I see it from the mountains?If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies??Has it feathers like a bird??Is it brought from famous countries?Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!?Oh, some wise man from the skies!?Please to tell a little pilgrim?Where the place called morning lies!
III.
At half-past three a single bird?Unto a silent sky?Propounded but a single term?Of cautious melody.
At half-past four, experiment?Had subjugated test,?And lo! her silver principle?Supplanted all the rest.
At half-past seven, element?Nor implement was seen,?And place was where the presence was,?Circumference between.
IV.
DAY'S PARLOR.
The day came slow, till five o'clock,?Then sprang before the hills?Like hindered rubies, or the light?A sudden musket spills.
The purple could not keep the east,?The sunrise shook from fold,?Like breadths of topaz, packed a night,?The lady just unrolled.
The happy winds their timbrels took;?The birds, in docile rows,?Arranged themselves around their prince?(The wind is prince of those).
The orchard sparkled like a Jew, --?How mighty 't was, to stay?A guest in this stupendous place,?The parlor of the day!
V.
THE SUN'S WOOING.
The sun just touched the morning;?The morning, happy thing,?Supposed that he had come to dwell,?And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer, --?A raised, ethereal thing;?Henceforth for her what holiday!?Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards?His haughty, spangled hems,?Leaving a new necessity, --?The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,?Felt feebly for her crown, --?Her unanointed forehead?Henceforth her only one.
VI.
THE ROBIN.
The robin is the one?That interrupts the morn?With hurried, few, express reports?When March is scarcely on.
The robin is the one?That overflows the noon?With her cherubic quantity,?An April but begun.
The robin is the one?That speechless from her nest?Submits that home and certainty?And sanctity are best.
VII.
THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.
From cocoon forth a butterfly?As lady from her door?Emerged -- a summer afternoon --?Repairing everywhere,
Without design, that I could trace,?Except to stray abroad?On miscellaneous enterprise?The clovers understood.
Her pretty parasol was seen?Contracting in a field?Where men made hay, then struggling hard?With an opposing cloud,
Where parties, phantom as herself,?To Nowhere seemed to go?In purposeless circumference,?As 't were a tropic show.
And notwithstanding bee that worked,?And flower that zealous blew,?This audience of idleness?Disdained them, from the sky,
Till sundown crept, a steady tide,?And men that made