Morning poems

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I have a King, who does not speak

© Emily Dickinson

I have a King, who does not speak --
So -- wondering -- thro' the hours meek
I trudge the day away --
Half glad when it is night, and sleep,
If, haply, thro' a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day.

Great Streets of silence led away

© Emily Dickinson

Great Streets of silence led away
To Neighborhoods of Pause --
Here was no Notice -- no Dissent
No Universe -- no laws --

Good Morning -- Midnight

© Emily Dickinson

Good Morning -- Midnight --
I'm coming Home --
Day -- got tired of Me --
How could I -- of Him?

As Watchers hang upon the East,

© Emily Dickinson

As Watchers hang upon the East,
As Beggars revel at a feast
By savory Fancy spread --
As brooks in deserts babble sweet
On ear too far for the delight,
Heaven beguiles the tired.

And this of all my Hopes

© Emily Dickinson

And this of all my Hopes
This, is the silent end
Bountiful colored, my Morning rose
Early and sere, its end

A little East of Jordan,

© Emily Dickinson

A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard --

Will there really be a "Morning"?

© Emily Dickinson

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?

The Voice that stands for Floods to me

© Emily Dickinson

The Voice that stands for Floods to me
Is sterile borne to some --
The Face that makes the Morning mean
Glows impotent on them --

The largest Fire ever known

© Emily Dickinson

The largest Fire ever known
Occurs each Afternoon --
Discovered is without surprise
Proceeds without concern --

The feet of people walking home

© Emily Dickinson

The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go --
The Crocus -- til she rises
The Vassal of the snow --

Poor little Heart!

© Emily Dickinson

Poor little Heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

I should not dare to leave my friend,

© Emily Dickinson

I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because -- because if he should die
While I was gone -- and I -- too late --
Should reach the Heart that wanted me --

I am alive -- I guess

© Emily Dickinson

I am alive -- I guess --
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory --
And at my finger's end --

Her -- "last Poems"

© Emily Dickinson

Her -- "last Poems" --
Poets -- ended --
Silver -- perished -- with her Tongue --
Not on Record -- bubbled other,

As imperceptibly as Grief

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away --
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy --

Bring me the sunset in a cup,

Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning's flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps --
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!

Angels, in the early morning

Angels, in the early morning
May be seen the Dews among,
Stooping -- plucking -- smiling -- flying --
Do the Buds to them belong?

The Guest is gold and crimson

The Guest is gold and crimson --
An Opal guest and gray --
Of Ermine is his doublet --
His Capuchin gay --

The Bustle in a House

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth --

Sleep is supposed to be

Sleep is supposed to be
By souls of sanity
The shutting of the eye.