He Ate and Drank the Precious Words
by Emily Dickinson
He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!
Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
–
Futile – the Winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!
–
Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor – Tonight –
In Thee! – Emily Dickinson
I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed
by Emily Dickinson
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
–
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
–
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxgloe’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
–
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower,
But I could never sell –
If you would like to borrow,
Until the Daffodil
–
Unties her yellow Bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the Bees, from Clover rows
Their Hock, and Sherry, draw,
–
Why, I will lend until just then,
But not an hour more! – Emily Dickinson
I Never Saw a Moor
by Emily Dickinson
I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
–
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
Much Madness Is Divinest Sense
by Emily Dickinson
Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
‘Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur – you’re straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain.
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 June –
To an admiring Bog! – Emily Dickinson
Fame is a bee.
It has a song –
It has a sting –
Ah, too, it has a wing.
– Emily Dickinson
By Chivalries as tiny,
A Blossom, or a Book,
The seeds of smiles are planted —
Which blossom in the dark.
Emily Dickinson
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Travel may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.
by Emily Dickinson
Thoughts on the Edge of Forever 