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The single hound : poems of a lifetime

Dickinson, Emily (1830-1886)

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TO SUE.
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THE SINGLE HOUND
 1. 
[I. Adventure most unto itself]
 2. 
[II. The Soul that hath a Guest]
 3. 
[III. Except the smaller size, no Lives are round]
 4. 
[IV. Fame is a fickle food]
 5. 
[V. The right to perish might be thought]
 6. 
[VI. Peril as a possession]
 7. 
[VII. When Etna basks and purrs]
 8. 
[VIII. Reverse cannot befall that fine Prosperity]
 9. 
[IX. To be alive is power]
 10. 
[X. Witchcraft has not a pedigree]
 11. 
[XI. Exhilaration is the Breeze]
 12. 
[XII. No romance sold unto]
 13. 
[XIII. If what we could were what we would]
 14. 
[XIV. Perception of an Object costs]
 15. 
[XV. No other can reduce]
 16. 
[XVI. The blunder is to estimate]
 17. 
[XVII. My Wheel is in the dark]
 18. 
[XVIII. There is another Loneliness]
 19. 
[XIX. So gay a flower bereaved the mind]
 20. 
[XX. Glory is that bright tragic thing]
 21. 
[XXI. The missing All prevented me]
 22. 
[XXII. His mind, of man a secret makes]
 23. 
[XXIII. The suburbs of a secret]
 24. 
[XXIV. The difference between despair]
 25. 
[XXV. There is a solitude of space]
 26. 
[XXVI. The props assist the house]
 27. 
[XXVII. The gleam of an heroic act]
 28. 
[XXVIII. Of Death the sharpest function]
 29. 
[XXIX. Down Time's quaint stream]
 30. 
[XXX. I bet with every Wind that blew, till Nature in chagrin]
 31. 
[XXXI. The Future never spoke]
 32. 
[XXXII. Two lengths has every day]
 33. 
[XXXIII. The Soul's superior instants]
 34. 
[XXXIV. Nature is what we see]
 35. 
[XXXV. Ah, Teneriffe]
 36. 
[XXXVI. She died at play]
 37. 
[XXXVII. “Morning” means “Milking” to the Farmer]
 38. 
[XXXVIII. A little madness in the Spring]
 39. 
[XXXIX. I can't tell you, but you feel it]
 40. 
[XL. Some Days retired from the rest]
 41. 
[XLI. Like Men and Women shadows walk]
 42. 
[XLII. The butterfly obtains]
 43. 
[XLIII. Beauty crowds me till I die]
 44. 
[XLIV. We spy the Forests and the Hills]
 45. 
[XLV. I never told the buried gold]
 46. 
[XLVI. The largest fire ever known]
 47. 
[XLVII. Bloom upon the Mountain, stated]
 48. 
[XLVIII. March is the month of expectation]
 49. 
[XLIX. The Duties of the Wind are few]
 50. 
[L. The Winds drew off]
 51. 
[LI. I think that the root of the Wind is Water]
 52. 
[LII. So, from the mould]
 53. 
[LIII. The long sigh of the Frog]
 54. 
[LIV. A cap of lead across the sky]
 55. 
[LV. I send two Sunsets]
 56. 
[LVI. Of this is Day composed]
 57. 
[LVII. The Hills erect their purple heads]
 58. 
[LVIII. Lightly stepped a yellow star]
 59. 
[LIX. The Moon upon her fluent route]
 60. 
[LX. Like some old fashioned miracle]
 61. 
[LXI. Glowing is her Bonnet]
 62. 
[LXII. Forever cherished be the tree]
 63. 
[LXIII. The Ones that disappeared are back]
 64. 
[LXIV. Those final Creatures,—who they are]
 65. 
[LXV. Summer begins to have the look]
 66. 
[LXVI. A prompt, executive Bird is the Jay]
 67. 
[LXVII. Like brooms of steel]
 68. 
[LXVIII. These are the days that Reindeer love]
 69. 
[LXIX. Follow wise Orion]
 70. 
[LXX. In Winter, in my room]
 71. 
[LXXI. Not any sunny tone]
 72. 
[LXXII. For Death,—or rather]
 73. 
[LXXIII. Dropped into the Ether Acre]
 74. 
[LXXIV. This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies]
 75. 
[LXXV. 'Twas comfort in her dying room]
 76. 
[LXXVI. Too cold is this]
 77. 
[LXXVII. I watched her face to see which way]
 78. 
[LXXVIII. Today or this noon]
 79. 
[LXXIX. I see thee better in the dark]
 80. 
[LXXX. Low at my problem bending]
 81. 
[LXXXI. If pain for peace prepares]
 82. 
[LXXXII. I fit for them]
 83. 
[LXXXIII. Not one by Heaven defrauded stay]
 84. 
[LXXXIV. The feet of people walking home]
 85. 
[LXXXV. We should not mind so small a flower]
 86. 
[LXXXVI. To the staunch Dust we safe commit thee]
 87. 
[LXXXVII. Her “Last Poems”]
 88. 
[LXXXVIII. Immured in Heaven! What a Cell!]
 89. 
[LXXXIX. I'm thinking of that other morn]
 90. 
[XC. The overtakelessness of those]
 91. 
[XCI. The Look of Thee, what is it like?]
 92. 
[XCII. The Devil, had he fidelity]
 93. 
[XCIII. Papa above]
 94. 
[XCIV. Not when we know]
 95. 
[XCV. Elijah's wagon knew no thill]
 96. 
[XCVI. “Remember me,” implored the Thief]
 97. 
[XCVII. To this apartment deep]
 98. 
[XCVIII. Sown in dishonor?]
 99. 
[XCIX. Who is it seeks my pillow nights?]
 100. 
[C. His Cheek is his Biographer]
 101. 
[CI. “Heavenly Father,” take to thee]
 102. 
[CII. The sweets of Pillage can be known]
 103. 
[CIII. A little over Jordan]
 104. 
[CIV. Dust is the only secret]
 105. 
[CV. Ambition cannot find him]
 106. 
[CVI. Eden is that old fashioned House]
 107. 
[CVII. Candor, my tepid Friend]
 108. 
[CVIII. Speech is a symptom of affection]
 109. 
[CIX. Who were “the Father and the Son”]
 110. 
[CX. That Love is all there is]
 111. 
[CXI. The luxury to apprehend]
 112. 
[CXII. The Sea said “Come” to the Brook]
 113. 
[CXIII. All I may, if small]
 114. 
[CXIV. Love reckons by itself alone]
 115. 
[CXV. The inundation of the Spring]
 116. 
[CXVI. No Autumn's intercepting chill]
 117. 
[CXVII. Volcanoes be in Sicily]
 118. 
[CXVIII. Distance is not the realm of Fox]
 119. 
[CXIX. The treason of an accent]
 120. 
[CXX. How destitute is he]
 121. 
[CXXI. Crisis is sweet and, set the Heart]
 122. 
[CXXII. To tell the beauty would decrease]
 123. 
[CXXIII. To love thee, year by year]
 124. 
[CXXIV. I showed her heights she never saw]
 125. 
[CXXV. On my volcano grows the grass]
 126. 
[CXXVI. If I could tell how glad I was]
 127. 
[CXXVII. Her Grace is all she has]
 128. 
[CXXVIII. No matter where the Saints abide]
 129. 
[CXXIX. To see her is a picture]
 130. 
[CXXX. So set its sun in thee]
 131. 
[CXXXI. Had this one day not been]
 132. 
[CXXXII. That she forgot me was the least]
 133. 
[CXXXIII. The incidents of Love]
 134. 
[CXXXIV. Just so, Jesus raps—He does not weary]
 135. 
[CXXXV. Safe Despair it is that raves]
 136. 
[CXXXVI. The Face we choose to miss]
 137. 
[CXXXVII. Of so divine a loss]
 138. 
[CXXXVIII. The healed Heart shows its shallow scar]
 139. 
[CXXXIX. To pile like Thunder to its close]
 140. 
[CXL. The Stars are old, that stood for me]
 141. 
[CXLI. All circumstances are the frame]
 142. 
[CXLII. I did not reach thee]

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94

[LXXXVII. Her “Last Poems”]

Her “Last Poems”—
Poets ended,
Silver perished with her tongue,
Not on record bubbled other
Flute, or Woman, so divine;
Not unto its Summer morning
Robin uttered half the tune—
Gushed too free for the adoring,
From the Anglo-Florentine.
Late the praise—
'Tis dull conferring
On a Head too high to crown,
Diadem or Ducal showing,
Be its Grave sufficient sign.
Yet if we, no Poet's kinsman,
Suffocate with easy woe,
What and if ourself a Bridegroom,
Put Her down, in Italy?
[_]

[Written after the death of Mrs. Browning in 1861.]


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