![]() Photo of Emily Dickinson «back::: |
![]() The strikingly witty and just plain creative Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) is considered one of the most important poetesses of all time. The stray from mainstream is what makes her work so appealing and fresh, and her ability to create poetry that is not depending on any particular era helps her to live on through it. Below are only a few pieces noted, though I have not come across too many lines of hers which I did not like. :::Because I could not stop for Death::: Because I could not stop for Death-- He kindly stopped for me-- The Carriage held but just Ourselves-- and Immortality. We slowly drove--He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility-- We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess--in the Ring-- We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-- We passed the Setting Sun-- Or rather--He passed Us-- The Dews drew quivering and chill-- For only Gossamer, my Gown-- My Tippet--only Tulle-- We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground-- The Roof was scarcely visible-- The Cornice--in the Ground-- Since then--'Tis Centuries--and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses Heads Were toward Eternity-- :::I'm Nobody! Who Are You::: I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you 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 :::How happy is the little stone::: How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity. :::A word is dead::: A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day. :::I felt a clearing in my mind::: I felt a clearing in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to join Unto the thought before, But sequence ravelled out of reach Like balls upon the floor. |