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Tag Archives: Emily Dickinson

quote of the day

Love is its own rescue;
for we,
at our supremest,
are but its trembling emblems.
– Emily Dickinson

angels, in the early morning

Good morning, Neighborhood!

Angels, in the early morning
by Emily Dickinson
Angels, in the early morning
May be seen the Dews among,
Stooping — plucking — smiling — flying —
Do the Buds to them belong?

Angels, when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping — plucking — sighing — flying —
Parched the flowers they bear along.

remembering an early snow in Denver

Water, is taught by thirst.
by Emily Dickinson
Water, is taught by thirst.
Land — by the Oceans passed.
Transport — by throe —
Peace — by its battles told —
Love, by Memorial Mold —
Birds, by the Snow.


Bring me the sunset in a cup . . . – Emily Dickinson

Sunday morning

He is alive, this morning
— by Emily Dickinson 

He is alive, this morning —
He is alive — and awake —
Birds are resuming for Him —
Blossoms — dress for His Sake.
Bees — to their Loaves of Honey
Add an Amber Crumb
Him — to regale — Me — Only —
Motion, and am dumb.

September 9th

James Remington "Jimmy" Pees

John 11:25-26

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life.
He who believes in me will live, even though he dies;
and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.
Do you believe this?”

I believe.

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 grew 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 but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

~ Emily Dickinson



by Emily Dickinson

THE cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.

The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
To stay as if, or go.

A vastness, as a neighbor, came, —
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, —
And so the night became.

National Poetry Month

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April is National Poetry Month.

In Central Park on Saturday for the Radio Bookworm fundraiser,  Don Keil read poems by Edgar Guest and his readings brought back memories of my childhood.  Edgar A. Guest was a very popular poet at one time and my folks’  library contained several books of poems – Guests’ among them.

When I was young, our teachers required us to memorize quite lengthy poems (few of which I remember today – or only a verse or two of some of them: “under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands . . .” comes to mind!) – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Evangeline by Longfellow

Christmas Bells by Longfellow (I heard the bells on Christmas day . . .)

Crossing the Bar by Alfred Tennyson

Hiawatha’s Childhood by Longfellow (Good Grief – this was a difficult one to learn!).  “By the shores of Gitche Gumee . . .”

Abou Ben Adhem by James Henry Leigh Hunt

The list goes on.  One of my very favorite poets (one I read over and over again) is Emily Dickinson. However, she was not one of the poets that we learned about when I was in grade school.

“Too Busy”

The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do.

I said:  “You get somebody else–or wait till I get through.”

I don’t know how the Lord came out, but He seemed to get along,

But I felt kind o’ sneakin’ like–knowed I’d done God wrong.

One day I needed the Lord, needed him right away–

And he never answered me at all, but I could hear him say

Down in my accusin’ heart–“Nigger, I’s got too much to do.

You get somebody else or wait till I get through.”

Now, when the Lord has a job for me, I never tries to shirk;

I drops what I have on hand and does the good Lord’s work;

and my affairs can run along, or wait till I get through.

Nobody else can do the work that God’s marked out for you.

–Paul Laurence Dunbar

Bring me sunset in a cup . . .

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Bring me the sunset in a cup
by Emily Dickinson

Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps —
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs —
How many trips the Tortoise makes —
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!

Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite —
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?

yesterday evening in Seguin

. . . bring me sunset in a cup . . .

– Emily Dickinson