The morns are meeker than they were,The nuts are getting brown;The berry's cheek is plumper,The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf,The field a scarlet gown.Lest I should be old-fashioned,I'll put a trinket on. … [Read more...] about Autumn., By: Emily Dickinson
Aurora., By: Emily Dickinson
Of bronze and blazeThe north, to-night!So adequate its forms,So preconcerted with itself,So distant to alarms, --An unconcern so sovereignTo universe, or me,It paints my simple spiritWith tints of majesty,Till I take vaster attitudes,And strut upon my stem,Disdaining men and oxygen,For arrogance of them. My splendors are menagerie;But their competeless showWill entertain the … [Read more...] about Aurora., By: Emily Dickinson
At Length., By: Emily Dickinson
Her final summer was it,And yet we guessed it not;If tenderer industriousnessPervaded her, we thought A further force of lifeDeveloped from within, --When Death lit all the shortness up,And made the hurry plain. We wondered at our blindness, --When nothing was to seeBut her Carrara guide-post, --At our stupidity, When, duller than our dullness,The busy darling lay,So … [Read more...] about At Length., By: Emily Dickinson
At Least To Pray Is Left, Is Left., By: Emily Dickinson
At least to pray is left, is left.O Jesus! in the airI 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? … [Read more...] about At Least To Pray Is Left, Is Left., By: Emily Dickinson
At Home., By: Emily Dickinson
The night was wide, and furnished scantWith but a single star,That often as a cloud it metBlew out itself for fear. The wind pursued the little bush,And drove away the leavesNovember left; then clambered upAnd fretted in the eaves. No squirrel went abroad;A dog's belated feetLike intermittent plush were heardAdown the empty street. To feel if blinds be fast,And closer … [Read more...] about At Home., By: Emily Dickinson