Poems by Emily Dickinson Part 35

Pursuing winds that censure us A February day, The brother of the universe Was never blown away.

The snow and he are intimate; I 've often seen them play When heaven looked upon us all With such severity,

I felt apology were due To an insulted sky, Whose pompous frown was nutriment To their temerity.

The pillow of this daring head Is pungent evergreens; His larder -- terse and militant -- Unknown, refreshing things;

His character a tonic, His future a dispute; Unfair an immortality That leaves this neighbor out.

IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.

I.

Let down the bars, O Death!

The tired flocks come in Whose bleating ceases to repeat, Whose wandering is done.

Thine is the stillest night, Thine the securest fold; Too near thou art for seeking thee, Too tender to be told.

II.

Going to heaven!

I don't know when, Pray do not ask me how, -- Indeed, I 'm too astonished To think of answering you!

Going to heaven! -- How dim it sounds!

And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the shepherd's arm!

Perhaps you 're going too!

Who knows?

If you should get there first, Save just a little place for me Close to the two I lost!

The smallest "robe" will fit me, And just a bit of "crown;"

For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home.

I 'm glad I don't believe it, For it would stop my breath, And I 'd like to look a little more At such a curious earth!

I am glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.

III.

At least to pray is left, is left.

O Jesus! in the air I know not which thy chamber is, -- I 'm knocking everywhere.

Thou stirrest earthquake in the South, And maelstrom in the sea; Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth, Hast thou no arm for me?

IV.

EPITAPH.

Step lightly on this narrow spot!

The broadest land that grows Is not so ample as the breast These emerald seams enclose.

Step lofty; for this name is told As far as cannon dwell, Or flag subsist, or fame export Her deathless syllable.

V.

Morns like these we parted; Noons like these she rose, Fluttering first, then firmer, To her fair repose.

Never did she lisp it, And 't was not for me; She was mute from transport, I, from agony!

Till the evening, nearing, One the shutters drew -- Quick! a sharper rustling!

And this linnet flew!

VI.

A death-blow is a life-blow to some Who, till they died, did not alive become; Who, had they lived, had died, but when They died, vitality begun.

VII.

I read my sentence steadily, Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause, --

The date, and manner of the shame; And then the pious form That "G.o.d have mercy" on the soul The jury voted him.