some of my Emily Dickinson
Carol Peters
View my complete profile
a
b
c
d
e
f
g
h
i
j
k
l
m
n
o
p
q
r
s
t
u
v
w
y
zealots for ED (like me)
archive
►
2010
(23)
►
February
(1)
►
January
(22)
▼
2009
(93)
►
December
(31)
▼
November
(30)
Bloom — is Result — to meet a Flower
Tie the strings to my Life, My Lord,
Gratitude — is not the mention
The Soul has Bandaged moments —
Had I not This, or This, I said,
Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
I've none to tell me to but Thee
Our journey had advanced —
My Season's furthest Flower —
On the World you colored
We grow accustomed to the Dark —
I took my Power in my Hand —
Conjecturing a Climate
The Birds begun at Four o'clock —
I felt my life with both my hands
It tossed — and tossed —
Because He loves Her
A Prison gets to be a friend —
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
Volcanoes be in Sicily
Four Trees — opon a solitary Acre —
You taught me Waiting with Myself —
Revolution is the Pod
Quite empty, quite at rest,
Pigmy seraphs — gone astray —
Not at Home to Callers
Me, change! Me, alter!
Kill your Balm — and it's Odors bless you —
How soft this Prison is
I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl —
►
October
(31)
►
September
(1)
Monday, November 2, 2009
How soft this Prison is
How soft this Prison is
How sweet these sullen bars
No Despot but the King of Down
Invented this repose
Of Fate if this is all
Has he no added Realm
A Dungeon but a Kinsman is
Incarceration — Home.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment