EMILY DICKINSON

POEM 49
I never lost as much but twice
And that was in the sod.
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!
Angels, twice descending,
Reimbursed my store.
Burglar, banker, father,
I am poor once more!
POEM 67
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory
As he defeateddying
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!
POEM 185
Faith is a fine invention
For Gentlemen who see!
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency!
POEM 441
This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me
The simple News that Nature told
With tender Majesty
Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see
For love of Her Sweet countrymen
Judge tenderly of Me.

POEM 1601

Of God we ask one favor,

That we may be forgiven
For what, he is presumed to know
The Crime, from us, is hidden
Immured the whole of Life
Within a magic Prison
We reprimand the Happiness
That too competes with Heaven.
POEM 1560
To be forgot by thee
Surpasses Memory
Of other minds
The Heart cannot forget
Unless it contemplate
What it declines
I was regarded then
Raised from the oblivion
A single time
To be remembered what Worthy to be forgot
Is my renown.
POEM 130
These are the days when Birds come back
A very fewa Bird or two
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The oldold sophistries of June
A blue and gold mistake
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze
Permit a child to join
Thy sacred emblems to partake
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!

WALT WHITMAN
LEAVES OF GRASS

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good
belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a
spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd
from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents
the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health
begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they
are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at
every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the
shelves are crowded
with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it
and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but
I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no
taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with
it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and
become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root,
silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of
my heart, the passing of blood and air
through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and
of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and
of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice
loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a
reaching around of arms,

The play of shine and shade on the trees as

the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the
streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the
song of me rising from bed and meeting the
sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?
have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning
of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you
shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and
sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or
third hand, nor look through the eyes of the
dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either,
nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them
from your self.
I have heard what the talkers were talking,
the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than
there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is
now,
And will never be any more perfection than
there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is
now.
ONCE I PASSD THROUGH A POPULOUS
CITY
Once I passd through a populous city,
imprinting my brain, for future use, with its
shows, architecture, customs, and traditions;
Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a
woman I casually met there, who detaind
me for love of me;
Day by day and night by night we were
together,All else has long been forgotten
by me;
I remember, I say, only that woman who
passionately clung to me;

Again we wanderwe lovewe separate

again;
Again she holds me by the handI must not
go!
I see her close beside me, with silent lips,
sad and tremulous.
FACING WEST FROM CALIFORNIAS
SHORES
Facing West From California's Shores
Facing west from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet
unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the
house of maternity,
the land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western sea, the
circle almost circled;
For starting westward from Hindustan, from
the vales of Kashmir,
From Asia, from the north, from the God, the
sage, and the hero,
From the south, from the flowery peninsulas
and the spice islands,
Long having wander'd since, round the earth
having wander'd,
Now I face home again, very pleas'd and
joyous,
(But where is what I started for so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)
WHEN I HEARD THE LEARND
ASTRONOMER
When I heard the learnd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in
columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams,
to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where
he lectured with much applause in the
lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and
sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wanderd off by
myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from
time to time,
Lookd up in perfect silence at the stars.

ANNE BRADSTREET

TO MY DEAR AND LOVING HUSBAND

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of
gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give
recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so persever,
That when we live no more we may live
ever.
THE AUTHOR OF HER BOOK
Thou ill-formd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less
wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposd to publick view,
Made thee in raggs, halting to th press to
trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may
judg).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother
call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection
would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I washd thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joynts to make thee even
feet,
Yet still thou runst more hobling then is
meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun Cloth, i th
house I find.
In this array mongst Vulgars mayst thou
roam.
In Criticks hands, beware thou dost not
come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not
known,

If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none:

And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which causd her thus to send thee out of
door.

with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I
stood repeating
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my
chamber doorSome late visitor entreating
entrance at my chamber door; - This it is and
nothing more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating
then no longer,
Sir, said I, or Madam, truly your
forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was
napping, and so gently you came rapping,
and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at
my chamber door, that I scarce was sure I
heard youhere I opened wide the door;
Darkness there and nothing more.

EDGAR ALLAN POE THE

RAVEN
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I
pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of
forgotten loreWhile I nodded, nearly
napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at
my chamber door.
Tis some visitor, I muttered, tapping at
my chamber doorOnly this and nothing
more.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak
December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its
ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;vainly I had
sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrowsorrow
for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant
maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of
each purple curtain thrilled mefilled me

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood

there wondering, fearing, doubting,
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to
dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the
stillness gave no token, and the only word
there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?
This I whispered, and an echo murmured
back the word, Lenore!
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul
within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat
louder than before. Surely, said I, surely
that is something at my window lattice; Let
me see, then, what thereat is, and this
mystery explore Let my heart be still a
moment and this mystery explore;Tis the
wind and nothing more!Open here I flung
the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the
saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance
made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above
my chamber doorperched upon a bust of
Pallas just above my chamber door
perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy
into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum
of the countenance it wore, Though thy
crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art
sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering

from the Nightly shoreTell me what thy
lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian
shore!
Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear
discourse so plainly, though its answer little
meaninglittle relevancy bore; For we
cannot help agreeing that no living human
being ever yet was blessed with seeing bird
above his chamber doorbird or beast upon
the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as Nevermore.
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid
bust, spoke only that one word, as if his soul
in that one word he did outpour. Nothing
farther then he utterednot a feather then
he flutteredtill I scarcely more than
muttered Other friends have flown before
on the morrow he will leave me, as my
Hopes have flown before. Then the bird said
Nevermore.
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so
aptly spoken,
Doubtless, said I, what it utters is its only
stock and store caught from some unhappy
master whom unmerciful Disaster followed
fast and followed faster till his songs one
burden bore till the dirges of his Hope that
melancholy burden bore of Never
nevermore.
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into
smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front
of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the
velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous
bird of yorewhat this grim, ungainly,
ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking Nevermore.
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no
syllable expressing to the fowl whose fiery
eyes now burned into my bosoms core; this
and more I sat divining, with my head at
ease reclining on the cushions velvet lining
that the lamp-light gloated oer, but whose
velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light
gloating oer,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser,

perfumed from an unseen censer swung by
Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the
tufted floor.
Wretch, I cried, thy God hath lent thee
by these angels he hath sent thee respite
respite and nepenthe from thy memories of
Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe
and forget this lost Lenore!
Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Prophet! said I, thing of evil!prophet
still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent,
or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert
land enchantedOn this home by Horror
hauntedtell me truly, I implore Is there
is there balm in Gilead?tell metell me, I
implore!
Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Prophet! said I, thing of evil!prophet
still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that
bends above usby that God we both adore
- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the
distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted
maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the
angels name Lenore. Quoth the Raven
Nevermore.
Be that word our sign of parting, bird or
fiend! I shrieked, upstarting Get thee
back into the tempest and the Nights
Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a
token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!quit the
bust above my door! Take thy beak from out
my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!
Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
And the Raven, never flitting, still is
sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my
chamber door; And his eyes have all the
seeming of a demons that is dreaming, And
the lamp-light oer him streaming throws his
shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies
floating on the floor shall be lifted
nevermore!