Poems by Emily Dickinson, Third Series. Эмили Дикинсон

ms by Emily Dickinson, Third Series

MABEL LOOMIS TODD

          It's all I have to bring to-day,

            This, and my heart beside,

          This, and my heart, and all the fields,

            And all the meadows wide.

          Be sure you count, should I forget, —

            Some one the sum could tell, —

          This, and my heart, and all the bees

            Which in the clover dwell.

      PREFACE

      The intellectual activity of Emily Dickinson was so great that a large and characteristic choice is still possible among her literary material, and this third volume of her verses is put forth in response to the repeated wish of the admirers of her peculiar genius. Much of Emily Dickinson's prose was rhythmic, —even rhymed, though frequently not set apart in lines.

      Also many verses, written as such, were sent to friends in letters; these were published in 1894, in the volumes of her Letters. It has not been necessary, however, to include them in this Series, and all have been omitted, except three or four exceptionally strong ones, as "A Book," and "With Flowers."

      There is internal evidence that many of the poems were simply spontaneous flashes of insight, apparently unrelated to outward circumstance. Others, however, had an obvious personal origin; for example, the verses "I had a Guinea golden," which seem to have been sent to some friend travelling in Europe, as a dainty reminder of letter-writing delinquencies. The surroundings in which any of Emily Dickinson's verses are known to have been written usually serve to explain them clearly; but in general the present volume is full of thoughts needing no interpretation to those who apprehend this scintillating spirit.

      M. L. T.

      AMHERST, October, 1896.

      I. LIFE

POEMS

      I.

      REAL RICHES

      'T is little I could care for pearls

        Who own the ample sea;

      Or brooches, when the Emperor

        With rubies pelteth me;

      Or gold, who am the Prince of Mines;

        Or diamonds, when I see

      A diadem to fit a dome

        Continual crowning me.

      II.

      SUPERIORITY TO FATE

      Superiority to fate

        Is difficult to learn.

      'T is not conferred by any,

        But possible to earn

      A pittance at a time,

        Until, to her surprise,

      The soul with strict economy

        Subsists till Paradise.

      III.

      HOPE

      Hope is a subtle glutton;

        He feeds upon the fair;

      And yet, inspected closely,

        What abstinence is there!

      His is the halcyon table

        That never seats but one,

      And whatsoever is consumed

        The same amounts remain.

      IV.

      FORBIDDEN FRUIT

I

      Forbidden fruit a flavor has

        That lawful orchards mocks;

      How luscious lies the pea within

        The pod that Duty locks!

      V.

      FORBIDDEN FRUIT

II

      Heaven is what I cannot reach!

        The apple on the tree,

      Provided it do hopeless hang,

        That 'heaven' is, to me.

      The color on the cruising cloud,

        The interdicted ground

      Behind the hill, the house behind, —

        There Paradise is found!

      VI.

      A WORD

      A word is dead

      When it is said,

        Some say.

      I say it just

      Begins to live

        That day.

      VII

      To venerate the simple days

        Which lead the seasons by,

      Needs but to remember

        That from you or me

      They may take the trifle

        Termed mortality!

      To invest existence with a stately air,

      Needs but to remember

        That the acorn there

      Is the egg of forests

        For the upper air!

      VIII.

      LIFE'S TRADES

      It's such a little thing to weep,

        So short a thing to sigh;

      And yet by trades the size of these

        We men and women die!

      IX

      Drowning is not so pitiful

        As the attempt to rise.

      Three times, 't is said, a sinking man

        Comes up to face the skies,

      And then declines forever

        To that abhorred abode

      Where hope and he part company, —

        For he is grasped of God.

      The Maker's cordial visage,

        However good to see,

      Is shunned, we must admit it,

        Like an adversity.

      X

      How still the bells in steeples stand,

        Till, swollen with the sky,

      They leap upon their silver feet

        In frantic melody!

      XI

      If the foolish call them 'flowers,'

        Need the wiser tell?

      If the savans 'classify' them,

        It is just as well!

      Those who read the Revelations

        Must not criticise

      Those who read the same edition

        With beclouded eyes!

      Could we stand with that old Moses

        Canaan denied, —

      Scan,