(109) CANDOR, my tepid Friend, Come not to play with me! The Myrrhs and Mochas of the Mind Are its Iniquity.
-Emily Dickinson
EDEN is that old-fashioned House
(108) EDEN is that old-fashioned House We dwell in every day, Without suspecting our abode Until we drive away. How fair, on looking back, the Day We sauntered from the door, Unconscious our returning Discover it no more.
-Emily Dickinson
AMBITION cannot find him
(107) AMBITION cannot find him, Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of Nowhere Lie between them now. Yesterday undistinguished— Eminent to-day, For our mutual honor— Immortality!
-Emily Dickinson
DUST is the only secret
(106) DUST is the only secret, Death the only one You cannot find out all about In his native town: Nobody knew his father, Never was a boy, Hadn’t any playmates Or early history. Industrious, laconic, Punctual, sedate, Bolder than a Brigand, Swifter than a Fleet, Builds like a bird too, Christ robs the next— Robin after robin Smuggled to rest!
-Emily Dickinson
A LITTLE over Jordan
(105) A LITTLE over Jordan, As Genesis record, An Angel and a Wrestler Did wrestle long and hard. Till, morning touching mountain, And Jacob waxing strong, The Angel begged permission To breakfast and return. “Not so,” quoth wily Jacob, And girt his loins anew, “Until thou bless me, stranger!” The which acceded to: Light swung the silver fleeces Peniel hills among, And the astonished Wrestler Found he had worsted God!
-Emily Dickinson
THE Bible is an antique volume
(104) THE Bible is an antique volume Written by faded men, At the suggestion of Holy Spectres— Subjects—Bethlehem— Eden—the ancient Homestead— Satan—the Brigadier, Judas—the great Defaulter, David—the Troubadour. Sin—a distinguished Precipice Others must resist, Boys that “believe” Are very lonesome— Other boys are “lost.” Had but the tale a warbling Teller All the boys would come— Orpheus’ sermon captivated, It did not condemn.
-Emily Dickinson
THE sweets of Pillage can be known
(103) THE sweets of Pillage can be known To no one but the Thief, Compassion for Integrity Is his divinest Grief.
-Emily Dickinson
“HEAVENLY Father,” take to thee
(102) “HEAVENLY Father,” take to thee The supreme iniquity, Fashioned by thy candid hand In a moment contraband. Though to trust us seem to us More respectful—“we are dust.” We apologize to Thee For Thine own Duplicity.
-Emily Dickinson
HIS Cheek is his Biographer
(101) HIS Cheek is his Biographer— As long as he can blush, Perdition is Opprobrium; Past that, he sins in peace. Thief
-Emily Dickinson
WHO is it seeks my pillow nights?
(100) WHO is it seeks my pillow nights? With plain inspecting face, “Did you, or did you not?” to ask, ’T is Conscience, childhood’s nurse. With martial hand she strokes the hair Upon my wincing head, “All rogues shall have their part in”— What— The Phosphorus of God.
-Emily Dickinson