Poems by Emily Dickinson Part 21

Great Britain disapproves "the stars;"

Disparagement discreet, -- There 's something in their att.i.tude That taunts her bayonet.

x.x.x.

Faith is a fine invention For gentlemen who see; But microscopes are prudent In an emergency!

x.x.xI.

Except the heaven had come so near, So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so; I had not hoped before.

But just to hear the grace depart I never thought to see, Afflicts me with a double loss; 'T is lost, and lost to me.

x.x.xII.

Portraits are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.

x.x.xIII.

THE DUEL.

I took my power in my hand.

And went against the world; 'T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.

I aimed my pebble, but myself Was all the one that fell.

Was it Goliath was too large, Or only I too small?

x.x.xIV.

A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.

The vane a little to the east Scares muslin souls away; If broadcloth b.r.e.a.s.t.s are firmer Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?

Ah! the bewildering thread!

The tapestries of paradise So notelessly are made!

x.x.xV.

THE GOAL.

Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be, Too fair For credibility's temerity To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven, To reach Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance; How high Unto the saints' slow diligence The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture, But then, Eternity enables the endeavoring Again.

x.x.xVI.

SIGHT.

Before I got my eye put out, I liked as well to see As other creatures that have eyes, And know no other way.

But were it told to me, to-day, That I might have the sky For mine, I tell you that my heart Would split, for size of me.

The meadows mine, the mountains mine, -- All forests, stintless stars, As much of noon as I could take Between my finite eyes.

The motions of the dipping birds, The lightning's jointed road, For mine to look at when I liked, -- The news would strike me dead!

So safer, guess, with just my soul Upon the window-pane Where other creatures put their eyes, Incautious of the sun.

x.x.xVII.