Emily Dickinson

We talked as Girls do -- Fond, and late -- We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave -- Of ours, none affair --

We handled Destinies, as cool -- As we -- Disposers -- be -- And God, a Quiet Party To our Authority --

But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself As we eventual -- be -- When Girls to Women, softly raised We -- occupy -- Degree --

We parted with a contract To cherish, and to write But Heaven made both, impossible Before another night.

It sounded as if the Streets were running And then -- the Streets stood still -- Eclipse -- was all we could see at the Window And Awe -- was all we could feel.

By and by -- the boldest stole out of his Covert To see if Time was there -- Nature was in an Opal Apron, Mixing fresher Air.

The fairest Home I ever knew Was founded in an Hour By Parties also that I knew A spider and a Flower -- A manse of mechlin and of Floes --

Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is, Impatient of no Child -- The feeblest -- or the waywardest -- Her Admonition mild --

In Forest -- and the Hill -- By Traveller -- be heard -- Restraining Rampant Squirrel -- Or too impetuous Bird --

How fair Her Conversation -- A Summer Afternoon -- Her Household -- Her Assembly -- And when the Sun go down --

Her Voice among the Aisles Incite the timid prayer Of the minutest Cricket -- The most unworthy Flower --

When all the Children sleep -- She turns as long away As will suffice to light Her lamps -- Then bending from the Sky --

With infinite Affection -- And infiniter Care -- Her Golden finger on Her lip -- Wills Silence -- Everywhere --

I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!

Angels -- twice descending Reimbursed my store -- Burglar! Banker -- Father! I am poor once more!

The Winters are so short -- I'm hardly justified In sending all the Birds away -- And moving into Pod --

Myself -- for scarcely settled -- The Phoebes have begun -- And then -- it's time to strike my Tent -- And open House -- again --

It's mostly, interruptions -- My Summer -- is despoiled -- Because there was a Winter -- once -- And al the Cattle -- starved --

And so there was a Deluge -- And swept the World away -- But Ararat's a Legend -- now -- And no one credits Noah --

A Pit -- but Heaven over it -- And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad, And yet a Pit -- With Heaven over it.

To stir would be to slip -- To look would be to drop -- To dream -- to sap the Prop That holds my chances up. Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!

The depth is all my thought -- I dare not ask my feet -- 'Twould start us where we sit So straight you'd scarce suspect It was a Pit -- with fathoms under it -- Its Circuit just the same. Seed -- summer -- tomb -- Whose Doom to whom?

I learned -- at least -- what Home could be -- How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant -- How awkward at the Hymn

Round our new Fireside -- but for this -- This pattern -- of the Way -- Whose Memory drowns me, like the Dip Of a Celestial Sea --

What Mornings in our Garden -- guessed -- What Bees -- for us -- to hum -- With only Birds to interrupt The Ripple of our Theme --

And Task for Both -- When Play be done -- Your Problem -- of the Brain -- And mine -- some foolisher effect -- A Ruffle -- or a Tune --

The Afternoons -- Together spent -- And Twilight -- in the Lanes -- Some ministry to poorer lives -- Seen poorest -- thro' our gains --

And then Return -- and Night -- and Home --

And then away to You to pass -- A new -- diviner -- care -- Till Sunrise take us back to Scene -- Transmuted -- Vivider --

This seems a Home -- And Home is not -- But what that Place could be -- Afflicts me -- as a Setting Sun -- Where Dawn -- knows how to be --