Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 11
Chapter 6 of 146 · 1 min read
Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. 'T is the majority In this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; Demur, — you're straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain. XII.
I asked no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil? He twirled a button, Without a glance my way: "But, madam, is there nothing else That we can show to-day?"
XIII.
EXCLUSION.
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing At her low gate; Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling Upon her mat.
I've known her from an ample nation Choose one; Then close the valves of her attention Like stone.
XIV.
THE SECRET.
Some things that fly there be, — Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy.
Some things that stay there be, — Grief, hills, eternity: Nor this behooveth me.
There are, that resting, rise. Can I expound the skies? How still the riddle lies!
