Poems on the topic: transience

Poems on the topic “transience” on Poets.by.

ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose -- It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee. Only a Bee will miss it -- Only a Butterfly, Hastening from far journey -- On its breast to lie -- Only a Bird will wonder -- Only a Breeze will sigh -- Ah Little Rose -- how easy For such as thee to die!
SadEmily Dickinson

Summer is shorter than any one --

Summer is shorter than any one -- Life is shorter than Summer -- Seventy Years is spent as quick As an only Dollar -- Sorrow -- now -- is polite -- and stays -- See how well we spurn him -- Equally to abhor Delight -- Equally retain him --
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

She rose as high as His Occasion

She rose as high as His Occasion Then sought the Dust -- And lower lay in low Westminster For Her brief Crest --
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

Yesterday is History,

Yesterday is History, 'Tis so far away -- Yesterday is Poetry -- 'Tis Philosophy -- Yesterday is mystery -- Where it is Today While we shrewdly speculate Flutter both away
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

The Butterfly's Numidian Gown

The Butterfly's Numidian Gown With spots of Burnish roasted on Is proof against the Sun Yet prone to shut its spotted Fan And panting on a Clover lean As if it were undone --
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

I had no time to Hate

I had no time to Hate -- Because The Grave would hinder Me -- And Life was not so Ample I Could finish -- Enmity -- Nor had I time to Love -- But since Some Industry must be -- The little Toil of Love -- I thought Be large enough for Me --
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

The Moon upon her fluent Route

The Moon upon her fluent Route Defiant of a Road -- The Star's Etruscan Argument Substantiate a God -- If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them -- now --
AnxiousEmily Dickinson

What shall I do when the Summer troubles --

What shall I do when the Summer troubles -- What, when the Rose is ripe -- What when the Eggs fly off in Music From the Maple Keep? What shall I do when the Skies a'chirrup Drop a Tune on me -- When the Bee hangs all Noon in the Buttercup What will become of me? Oh, when the Squirrel fills His Pockets And the Berries stare How can I bear their jocund Faces Thou from Here, so far? 'Twouldn't afflict a Robin -- All His Goods have Wings -- I -- do not fly, so wherefore My Perennial Things?
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

In this short Life

In this short Life That only lasts an hour How much -- how little -- is Within our power
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

How much the present moment means

How much the present moment means To those who've nothing more -- The Fop -- the Carp -- the Atheist -- Stake an entire store Upon a Moment's shallow Rim While their commuted Feet The Torrents of Eternity Do all but inundate --
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

It can't be "Summer"!

It can't be "Summer"! That -- got through! It's early -- yet -- for "Spring"! There's that long town of White -- to cross -- Before the Blackbirds sing! It can't be "Dying"! It's too Rouge -- The Dead shall go in White -- So Sunset shuts my question down With Cuffs of Chrysolite!
ContemplativeEmily Dickinson

How know it from a Summer's Day?

How know it from a Summer's Day? Its Fervors are as firm -- And nothing in the Countenance But scintillates the same -- Yet Birds examine it and flee -- And Vans without a name Inspect the Admonition And sunder as they came --

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