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It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
© Emily Dickinson
It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
Enclosed 'twas not of Rail
A Consciousness its Acre, and
It held a Human Soul.
Is it dead -- Find it
© Emily Dickinson
Is it dead -- Find it --
Out of sound -- Out of sight --
"Happy"? Which is wiser --
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that --
Of the low Ground?
In many and reportless places
© Emily Dickinson
In many and reportless places
We feel a Joy --
Reportless, also, but sincere as Nature
Or Deity --
I've nothing else -- to bring, You know
© Emily Dickinson
I've nothing else -- to bring, You know --
So I keep bringing These --
Just as the Night keeps fetching Stars
To our familiar eyes --
I think I was enchanted
© Emily Dickinson
I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl --
I read that Foreign Lady --
The Dark -- felt beautiful --
I should have been too glad, I see
© Emily Dickinson
I should have been too glad, I see --
Too lifted -- for the scant degree
Of Life's penurious Round --
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference -- have blamed --
The homelier time behind.
I learned -- at least -- what Home could be --
© Emily Dickinson
I learned -- at least -- what Home could be --
How ignorant I had been
Of pretty ways of Covenant --
How awkward at the Hymn
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
© Emily Dickinson
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
'Tis easiest to lie
And every Grass that plays outside
Is sorry, some, for me.
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead
© Emily Dickinson
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead
Came the Darker Way --
Carriages -- Be Sure -- and Guests -- too --
But for Holiday
He was weak, and I was strong -- then
© Emily Dickinson
He was weak, and I was strong -- then --
So He let me lead him in --
I was weak, and He was strong then --
So I let him lead me -- Home.
He told a homely tale
© Emily Dickinson
He told a homely tale
And spotted it with tears --
Upon his infant face was set
The Cicatrice of years --
He found my Being -- set it up --
© Emily Dickinson
He found my Being -- set it up --
Adjusted it to place --
Then carved his name -- upon it --
And bade it to the East
Had we our senses
© Emily Dickinson
Had we our senses
But perhaps 'tis well they're not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He's liable with them
Frigid and sweet Her parting Face --
© Emily Dickinson
Frigid and sweet Her parting Face --
Frigid and fleet my Feet --
Alien and vain whatever Clime
Acrid whatever Fate.
Forever -- it composed of Nows --
© Emily Dickinson
Forever -- it composed of Nows --
'Tis not a different time --
Except for Infiniteness --
And Latitude of Home --
For every Bird a Nest
© Emily Dickinson
For every Bird a Nest --
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round --
Denial -- is the only fact
© Emily Dickinson
Denial -- is the only fact
Perceived by the Denied --
Whose Will -- a numb significance --
The Day the Heaven died --
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
© Emily Dickinson
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Except that it is gone
Are ignorant of its Concern
As if it were not born.
By homely gift and hindered Words
© Emily Dickinson
By homely gift and hindered Words
The human heart is told
Of Nothing --
"Nothing" is the force
That renovates the World --
Away from Home are some and I --
© Emily Dickinson
Away from Home are some and I --
An Emigrant to be
In a Metropolis of Homes
Is easy, possibly --
