Charlotte Mew – A Farewell

Remember me and smile, as smiling too,

I have remembered things that went their way--

The dolls with which I grew too wise to play--

Or over-wise--kissed, as children do,

And so dismissed them; yes, even as yoy

Have done with this poor piece of painted clay--

Not wantonly, but wisely, shall we say?

As one who, haply, tunes his heart anew.

Only I wish her eyes may not be blue,

The eyes of a new angel. Ah! she may

Miss something that I found,--perhaps the clue

To those long silences of yours, which grew

Into one word. And should she not be gay,

Poor lady! Well, she too must have her day.

Emily Dickinson – I would not paint – a picture – (Poem 348)

I would not paint — a picture —
I'd rather be the One
It's bright impossibility
To dwell — delicious — on —
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare — celestial — stir —
Evokes so sweet a torment —
Such sumptuous — Despair —

I would not talk, like Cornets —
I'd rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings —
And out, and easy on —
Through Villages of Ether —
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal —
The pier to my Pontoon —

Nor would I be a Poet —
It's finer — Own the Ear —
Enamored — impotent — content —
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts — of Melody!

Emily Dickinson – Some keep the Sabbath going to Church-(Poem 236)

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I, just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along

Emily Dickinson – Safe in their Alabaster Chambers (Poem 124)

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers -
Untouched by Morning - 
and untouched by noon -
Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection, 
Rafter of Satin and Roof of Stone - 

Grand go the Years, 
In the Crescent above them -
Worlds scoop their Arcs - 
and Firmaments - row -
Diadems - drop -
And Doges surrender -
Soundless as Dots, 
On a Disk of Snow.

Emily Dickinson – All overgrown by cunning moss (Poem 146)

All overgrown by cunning moss,

All interspersed with weed,

The little cage of “Currer Bell”

In quiet “Haworth” laid.

This Bird – observing others

When frosts too sharp became

Retire to other latitudes –

Quietly did the same –

But differed in returning –

Since Yorkshire hills are green –

Yet not in all the nests I meet –

Can Nightingale be seen –