Morning poems

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It makes no difference abroad --

© Emily Dickinson

It makes no difference abroad --
The Seasons -- fit -- the same --
The Mornings blossom into Noons --
And split their Pods of Flame --

I showed her Heights she never saw

© Emily Dickinson

I showed her Heights she never saw --
"Would'st Climb," I said?
She said -- "Not so" --
"With me --" I said -- With me?

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

I had no Cause to be awake --

© Emily Dickinson

I had no Cause to be awake --
My Best -- was gone to sleep --
And Morn a new politeness took --
And failed to wake them up --

I could die -- to know --
'Tis a trifling knowledge --
News-Boys salute the Door --
Carts -- joggle by --
Morning's bold face -- stares in the window --
Were but mine -- the Charter of the least Fly --

I cautious, scanned my little life

© Emily Dickinson

I cautious, scanned my little life --
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till Heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.

He is alive, this morning --

© Emily Dickinson

He is alive, this morning --
He is alive -- and awake --
Birds are resuming for Him --
Blossoms -- dress for His Sake.

Four Trees -- upon a solitary Acre --

© Emily Dickinson

Four Trees -- upon a solitary Acre --
Without Design
Or Order, or Apparent Action --
Maintain --

Besides the Autumn poets sing

© Emily Dickinson

Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze --

Before I got my eye put out

© Emily Dickinson

Before I got my eye put out
I liked as well to see --
As other Creatures, that have Eyes
And know no other way --

At last, to be identified!

© Emily Dickinson

At last, to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side
The rest of Life to see!

'Tis Sunrise -- Little Maid -- Hast Thou

© Emily Dickinson

'Tis Sunrise -- Little Maid -- Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
'Twas not thy wont, to hinder so --
Retrieve thine industry --

"Morning" -- means "Milking" -- to the Farmer

© Emily Dickinson

"Morning" -- means "Milking" -- to the Farmer --
Dawn -- to the Teneriffe --
Dice -- to the Maid --
Morning means just Risk -- to the Lover --
Just revelation -- to the Beloved --

The Gentian weaves her fringes

© Emily Dickinson

The Gentian weaves her fringes --
The Maple's loom is red --
My departing blossoms
Obviate parade.

Split the Lark -- and you'll find the Music --

Split the Lark -- and you'll find the Music --
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled --
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.

My Soul -- accused me -- And I quailed --

My Soul -- accused me -- And I quailed --
As Tongue of Diamond had reviled
All else accused me -- and I smiled --
My Soul -- that Morning -- was My friend --

My nosegays are for Captives

My nosegays are for Captives --
Dim -- expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till Paradise.

Musicians wrestle everywhere

Musicians wrestle everywhere --
All day -- among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife --
And -- walking -- long before the morn --
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New Life"!

In Ebon Box, when years have flown

In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!

I shall keep singing!

I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes --
Each -- with a Robin's expectation --
I -- with my Redbreast --
And my Rhymes --