Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 26
Chapter 114 of 146 · 1 min read
The farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay, But not the obligation To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, — A crash without a sound; How life's reverberation Its explanation found!
XXVII.
On the bleakness of my lot Bloom I strove to raise. Late, my acre of a rock Yielded grape and maize.
Soil of flint if steadfast tilled Will reward the hand; Seed of palm by Lybian sun Fructified in sand.
XXVIII.
CONTRAST.
A door just opened on a street — I, lost, was passing by — An instant's width of warmth disclosed, And wealth, and company.
The door as sudden shut, and I, I, lost, was passing by, — Lost doubly, but by contrast most, Enlightening misery.
XXIX.
FRIENDS.
Are friends delight or pain? Could bounty but remain Riches were good.
But if they only stay Bolder to fly away, Riches are sad.
XXX.
FIRE.
Ashes denote that fire was; Respect the grayest pile For the departed creature's sake That hovered there awhile.
Fire exists the first in light, And then consolidates, — Only the chemist can disclose Into what carbonates.
XXXI.
A MAN.
Fate slew him, but he did not drop; She felled — he did not fall — Impaled him on her fiercest stakes — He neutralized them all.
She stung him, sapped his firm advance, But, when her worst was done, And he, unmoved, regarded her, Acknowledged him a man.
XXXII.
VENTURES.
Finite to fail, but infinite to venture. For the one ship that struts the shore Many's the gallant, overwhelmed creature Nodding in navies nevermore.



