Poems of Emily Dickinson, series 2 | Page 9

could see what moved them so.
"Tell him it was n't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the
sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it
held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.

Tell him -- No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart
to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.
"Tell him night finished before we finished,
And the old clock kept
neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended --
What
could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,

But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow, -- happy letter!

Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"
VI.
The way I read a letter 's this:
'T is first I lock the door,
And push it
with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.
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."
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