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Poems by Emily Dickinson

Dickinson, Emily (1830-1886)

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[My nosegays are for captives]
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I. LIFE.
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II. LOVE.
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III. NATURE.
 1. 
I. MOTHER NATURE.
 2. 
II. OUT OF THE MORNING.
 3. 
[III. At half-past three a single bird]
 4. 
IV. DAY'S PARLOR.
 5. 
V. THE SUN'S WOOING.
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VI. THE ROBIN.
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VII. THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.
 8. 
VIII. THE BLUEBIRD.
 9. 
IX. APRIL.
 10. 
X. THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.
 11. 
XI. MY ROSE.
 12. 
XII. THE ORIOLE'S SECRET.
 13. 
XIII. THE ORIOLE.
 14. 
XIV. IN SHADOW.
 15. 
XV. THE HUMMING-BIRD.
 16. 
XVI. SECRETS.
 17. 
[XVII. Who robbed the woods]
 18. 
XVIII. TWO VOYAGERS.
 19. 
XIX. BY THE SEA.
 20. 
XX. OLD-FASHIONED.
 21. 
XXI. A TEMPEST.
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XXII. THE SEA.
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XXIII. IN THE GARDEN.
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XXIV. THE SNAKE.
 25. 
XXV. THE MUSHROOM.
 26. 
XXVI. THE STORM.
 27. 
XXVII. THE SPIDER.
 28. 
[XXVIII. I know a place where summer strives]
 29. 
[XXIX. The one that could repeat the summer day]
 30. 
XXX. THE WIND'S VISIT.
 31. 
[XXXI. Nature rarer uses yellow]
 32. 
XXXII. GOSSIP.
 33. 
XXXIII. SIMPLICITY.
 34. 
XXXIV. STORM.
 35. 
XXXV. THE RAT.
 36. 
[XXXVI. Frequently the woods are pink]
 37. 
XXXVII. A THUNDER-STORM.
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XXXVIII. WITH FLOWERS.
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XXXIX. SUNSET.
 40. 
[XL. She sweeps with many-colored brooms]
 41. 
[XLI. Like mighty footlights burned the red]
 42. 
XLII. PROBLEMS.
 43. 
XLIII. THE JUGGLER OF DAY.
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XLIV. MY CRICKET.
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[XLV. As imperceptibly as grief]
 46. 
[XLVI. It can't be summer,—that got through]
 47. 
XLVII. SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.
 48. 
XLVIII. FRINGED GENTIAN.
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XLIX. NOVEMBER.
 50. 
L. THE SNOW.
 51. 
LI THE BLUE JAY.
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IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.

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94

V.
THE LETTER.

“Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him—
Tell him the page I did n't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.
Tell him just how the fingers hurried,
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.
“Tell him it was n't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him—No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.
95

“Tell him night finished before we finished,
And the old clock kept neighing ‘day!’
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended—
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow,—happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!”
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