Lives Like Loaded Guns_ Emily Dickinson and Her Family's Feuds - Lyndall Gordon [256]
I tend my flowers for thee
I think I was enchanted
I tie my Hat . . . Existence . . . struck my ticking . . . simulate . . . Bomb . . . calm
see also ‘A whole existence through’ from ‘While we were fearing it’
I took one Draught of Life—, see Doherty, Pete (main index)
I was the slightest in the House—. . . So stationed I could catch the mint
If ever the lid gets off my head
If it had no pencil
I’m Nobody! Who are you? . . . admiring Bog!
I’m ‘Wife’—I’ve finished that
It dont sound so terrible—quite—as it did—
It sifts from leaden sieves (‘Snow’)
It struck me every day . . . The maddest—quickest—by—
It was given to me by the Gods—
It would have starved a Gnat—
I’ve nothing Else, to bring, you know—
Just lost, when I was saved
Mine—by the Right of the White Election!
More Life - went out . . . Ethiop within
Much madness is divinest sense
My first well Day—since many ill—. . . My loss
My life closed twice before its close—
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun—
My loss, by sickness—Was it Loss?, see My first well day
My Wheel is in the dark
Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling—
Nobody knows this little rose
Not Sickness stains the Brave
Oh, what an afternoon for heaven, When ‘Bronte’ entered there!
Oh Shadow on the Grass
One need not be a Chamber—to be Haunted—. . . The Body—borrows a Revolver—
One Sister have I in our house
On my volcano grows the Grass . . . Fire rocks
On this wondrous sea
Papa above
Perception of an Object costs
Presentiment—is that long shadow—on the Lawn—
Publication—is the Auction
Rearrange a ‘Wife’s’ affection! . . . Amputate my freckled bosom!
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers
Severer Service of myself . . . forget the color of the Day
She dealt her pretty words like blades
She rose to his requirement, dropped
Show me Eternity, and I will show you Memory—. . . Infinity
‘Snow’, see ‘It sifts from Leaden Sieves’
Still own thee—still thou art
Struck, was I, nor yet by Lightning—
Success is counted sweetest
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy
Tell the truth but tell it slant
That Such have died enable Us
The Birds begun at Four o’clock . . . independent Extasy
The Brain within its Groove
The Devil—had he fidelity
The farthest Thunder . . . Torrid Noons
The going from a world we know
The reticent volcano keeps . . . buckled lips
The Soul selects her own Society
The Soul that hath a Guest
The Soul’s distinct connection . . . Flash—/ And Click—and Suddenness
The Soul’s Superior instants . . .
Eternity’s disclosure
Mortal Abolition
The Whole of it came not at once—. . . Murder by degrees
The World—stands—solemner—to me—. . . A modesty befits the soul
Their dappled importunity
There came a Day at Summer’s full
There is a languor of the life . . . fog
They shut me up in Prose—
This Consciousness that is aware . . . Adventure most unto itself
This is my letter to the world
This was a Poet—It is That . . . Exterior—to Time—
Though the great Waters sleep . . . No vacillating God
Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—
Title divine—is mine! . . .
Born—Bridalled—Shrouded—in a day
The Wife—without the sign
To hang our head ostensibly . . . such was not the posture
Twas just this time . . . altitude of me—
Twas the old—road—through pain—. . . close prest
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Volcanoes be in Sicily . . . Vesuvius at Home
Water is taught by thirst . . .by throe
We dream—it is good we are dreaming—
We offer you our cups, stintless as to the bee the lily, her
While we were fearing it, it came—
Who abdicated Ambush . . . Impregnable we are—
Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Portrait of the Dickinson children by Otis A. Bullard (1840). Left to right: Emily (aged nine), Austin, Lavinia.
Edward Dickinson. Her father’s heart was ‘pure and terrible’, Emily Dickinson said.
Mrs Dickinson, née Emily Norcross, had to suppress her youthful need for expressiveness. ‘I have never exercised that freedom which I presume you have desired me to,’ she put it to Edward Dickinson before their marriage.
Dickinson