(69) FOLLOW wise Orion Till you lose your eye, Dazzlingly decamping He is just as high.
-Emily Dickinson
THESE are the days that Reindeer love
(68) THESE are the days that Reindeer love And pranks the Northern star, This is the Sun’s objective And Finland of the year.
-Emily Dickinson
LIKE brooms of steel
(67) LIKE brooms of steel The Snow and Wind Had swept the Winter Street, The House was hooked, The Sun sent out Faint Deputies of heat— The Apple in the cellar snug Where rode the Bird The Silence tied His ample, plodding Steed, Was all the one that played.
-Emily Dickinson
A PROMPT, executive Bird is the Jay
(66) A PROMPT, executive Bird is the Jay, Bold as a Bailiff’s hymn, Brittle and brief in quality— Warrant in every line; Sitting a bough like a Brigadier, Confident and straight, Much is the mien Of him in March As a Magistrate.
-Emily Dickinson
SUMMER begins to have the look
(65) SUMMER begins to have the look, Peruser of enchanting Book Reluctantly, but sure, perceives— A gain upon the backward leaves. Autumn begins to be inferred By millinery of the cloud, Or deeper color in the shawl That wraps the everlasting hill. The eye begins its avarice, A meditation chastens speech, Some Dyer of a distant tree Resumes his gaudy industry. Conclusion is the course of all, Almost to be perennial, And then elude stability Recalls to immortality.
-Emily Dickinson
THOSE final Creatures,—who they are
(64) THOSE final Creatures,—who they are— That, faithful to the close, Administer her ecstasy, But just the Summer knows.
-Emily Dickinson
THE ones that disappeared are back
(63) THE ones that disappeared are back, The Phoebe and the Crow Precisely as in March is heard The curtness of the Jay— Be this an Autumn or a Spring? My wisdom loses way, One side of me the nuts are ripe— The other side is May.
-Emily Dickinson
FOREVER cherished be the tree
(62) FOREVER cherished be the tree, Whose apple Winter warm, Enticed to breakfast from the sky Two gabriels yestermorn; They registered in Nature’s book As Robin—Sire and Son, But angels have that modest way To screen them from renown.
-Emily Dickinson
GLOWING is her Bonnet
(61) GLOWING is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak! Better, as the Daisy From the Summer hill, Vanish unrecorded Save by tearful Rill, Save by loving Sunrise Looking for her face, Save by feet unnumbered Pausing at the place!
-Emily Dickinson
LIKE some old-fashioned miracle
(60) LIKE some old-fashioned miracle When Summertime is done, Seems Summer’s recollection And the affairs of June. As infinite tradition As Cinderella’s bays, Or little John of Lincoln Green, Or Bluebeard’s galleries. Her Bees have a fictitious hum, Her Blossoms, like a dream, Elate—until we almost weep So plausible they seem. Her Memories like strains—review— When Orchestra is dumb, The Violin in baize replaced And Ear and Heaven numb.
-Emily Dickinson