Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 15
Chapter 15 of 146 · 2 min read
RESURRECTION.
'T was a long parting, but the time For interview had come; Before the judgment-seat of God, The last and second time
These fleshless lovers met, A heaven in a gaze, A heaven of heavens, the privilege Of one another's eyes.
No lifetime set on them, Apparelled as the new Unborn, except they had beheld, Born everlasting now.
Was bridal e'er like this? A paradise, the host, And cherubim and seraphim The most familiar guest.
XVI.
APOCALYPSE.
I'm wife; I've finished that, That other state; I'm Czar, I'm woman now: It's safer so.
How odd the girl's life looks Behind this soft eclipse! I think that earth seems so To those in heaven now.
This being comfort, then That other kind was pain; But why compare? I'm wife! stop there!
XVII.
THE WIFE.
She rose to his requirement, dropped The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
If aught she missed in her new day Of amplitude, or awe, Or first prospective, or the gold In using wore away,
It lay unmentioned, as the sea Develops pearl and weed, But only to himself is known The fathoms they abide.
XVIII.
APOTHEOSIS.
Come slowly, Eden! Lips unused to thee, Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectars — enters, And is lost in balms!
III. NATURE.
I.
New feet within my garden go, New fingers stir the sod; A troubadour upon the elm Betrays the solitude.
New children play upon the green, New weary sleep below; And still the pensive spring returns, And still the punctual snow!
II.
MAY-FLOWER.
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May,
Dear to the moss, Known by the knoll, Next to the robin In every human soul.
Bold little beauty, Bedecked with thee, Nature forswears Antiquity.
III.
WHY?
The murmur of a bee A witchcraft yieldeth me. If any ask me why, 'T were easier to die Than tell.
The red upon the hill Taketh away my will; If anybody sneer, Take care, for God is here, That's all.
The breaking of the day Addeth to my degree; If any ask me how, Artist, who drew me so, Must tell!
IV.
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!
V.
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
