I counted till they danced soTheir slippers leaped the town,And then I took a pencilTo note the rebels down.And then they grew so jollyI did resign the prig,And ten of my once stately toesAre marshalled for a jig!
Emily Dickinson 1830- 1886
After great pain, a formal feeling comes–The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs–The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round–Of Ground, or Air, or Ought–A Wooden wayRegardless grown,A Quartz contentment, like a stone– This is the Hour of Lead–Remembered, if outlived,As Freezing persons...
“Nature” is what we see—The Hill—the Afternoon—Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—Nay—Nature is Heaven—Nature is what we hear—The Bobolink—the Sea—Thunder—the Cricket—Nay—Nature is Harmony—Nature is what we know—Yet have no art to say—So impotent Our Wisdom isTo her Simplicity.
Emily Dickinson
‘Twas such a little—little boatThat toddled down the bay!‘Twas such a gallant—gallant seaThat beckoned it away!
‘Twas such a greedy, greedy waveThat licked it from the Coast—Nor ever guessed the stately sailsMy little craft was lost!
Emily Dickinson