To hear an oriole sing May be a common thing, Or only a divine. It is not of the bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto crowd. The fashion of the ear Attireth that it hear In dun or fair. So whether it be rune, Or whether it be none, Is of within; The “tune is in the tree,” The sceptic showeth me; “No,…
The Only Ghost I Ever Saw By Emily Dickinson
The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in mechlin, — so; He wore no sandal on his foot, And stepped like flakes of snow. His gait was soundless,…
The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized. By Emily Dickinson
The nearest dream recedes, unrealized. The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race; Stoops to an easy clover — Dips — evades — teases —…
The Mystery Of Pain. By Emily Dickinson
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself, Its…
The Mushroom. By Emily Dickinson
The mushroom is the elf of plants, At evening it is not; At morning in a truffled hut It stops upon a spot As if it tarried always; And…
The Mountain. By Emily Dickinson
The mountain sat upon the plain In his eternal chair, His observation omnifold, His inquest everywhere. The seasons prayed around his knees, Like children round a sire: Grandfather of the…
The Moon. By Emily Dickinson
The moon was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of…
The Moon Is Distant From The Sea, By Emily Dickinson
The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands. He never misses a degree; Obedient to…
The Monument. By Emily Dickinson
She laid her docile crescent down, And this mechanic stone Still states, to dates that have forgot, The news that she is gone. So constant to its stolid…
The Master. By Emily Dickinson
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow, By…