Selected Verses of Emily Dickinson The Duel I took my power in my hand And went against the world; 'Twas 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? * * * * * * * * * * * * Success Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag to-day Can tell the definition So clear, of victory, As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break, agonizing and clear. * * * * * * * * * * * * I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! * * * * * * * * * * * * Deed A deed knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well. It then goes out an act, Or is entombed so still That only to the ear of God Its doom is audible. * * * * * * * * * * * * I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away ; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictious shores Before the harbor lie. * * * * * * * * * * * * The way I read a letter's this: 'Tis first I lock the door, And push it with my fingers next, To transport it be sure. And then I go the farthest off To counteract a knock Then draw my little letter forth And softly pick its lock. Then, glancing narrow at the wall, And narrow at the floor, For firm conviction of a mouse Not exorcised before, Peruse how infinite I am To - no one that you know! And sigh for lack of heaven, - but not The heaven the creeds bestow. * * * * * * * * * * * * I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Not had I time to love; but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me. * * * * * * * * * * * * If you were coming in the fall, I'd brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls. If only centuries delayed, I'd count them on my hand, Subtracting till my fingers dropped Into Van Dieman's land. If certain, when the life was out, That yours and mine should be, I'd toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity. But now, all ignorant of length Of time's uncertain wing, It goads me, like a goblin bee, That will not state it sting. * * * * * * * * * * * * Compensation For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy. For each beloved hour Sharp pittance of years, Bittern contested farthings And coffers heaped with tears. * * * * * * * * * * * * A Book He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Not that his frame was dust. He danced along the dingy days, And this bequest of wings Was but a book. What liberty A loosened spirit brings! * * * * * * * * * * * * The bee Like trains of cars on tracks of plush I hear the level bee: A jar across the flower goes, Their velvet masonry Withstands until the sweet assault Their Chivalry consumes, While he, victorious, tilts away To vanquish other blooms. His feet are shod with gauze, His helmet is of gold; His breast, a single onyx With chrysoprase, inlaid. His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune Oh, for a bee's experiences Of clovers and of noon! * * * * * * * * * * * * Some things that fly there be, - Birds, hours, the bubble bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be, - Grief, hills, eternity: Nor this behooveth me. There are that resting, rise. Can I expound the skies? How still the riddle lies! * * * * * * * * * * * * Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense, the starkest madness. 'Tis the majority In this, as all, prevails Assent, and you are sane; Demur, - you're straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain. * * * * * * * * * * * * The Heart asks Pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little Anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die. * * * * * * * * * * * * Tell all the Truth but tell it slant, Success in Circuit lies. Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb supprise. As lightning to the children eased, With explanation kind The truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind; * * * * * * * * * * * * The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fiar play- Both sent to see. * * * * * * * * * * * * The mountain sat upon the plain In his eternal Chair, This observation omnifold, His inquest everywhere. The seasons prayed around his knees, Like children round a sire: Grandfather of the days is he, Of dawn the ancestor. * * * * * * * * * * * * Experiment to me Is everyone I meet. If it contain a kernel? The figure of a nut Presents up on a tree, Equally plausibly; but meat within is requisite, To squirrels and to me. * * * * * * * * * * * * Hope Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. * * * * * * * * * * * * The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy. * * * * * * * * * * * * I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Not visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given