Poem 32 by Emily Dickinson

One of the papers I'm currently working on deals with the role of gossip in The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton and A Lost Lady by Willa Cather. This poem by Emily Dickinson relates in a small way to what I'm writing about:

The leaves, like women, interchange
Sagacious confidence,
Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of
Portentous inference, 

The parties in both cases
Enjoining secrecy, -
Inviolable compact
To notoriety. 

- Emily Dickinson

A Wife - at Daybreak I shall be by Emily Dickinson

A wife - at Daybreak I shall be -
Sunrise - Hast thou a Flag for me?
At Midnight, I am but a Maid,
How short it takes to make it Bride -
Then - Midnight, I have passed from thee
Unto the East, and Victory -

Midnight - Good Night! I hear them call,
The Angels bustle in the Hall -
Softly my Future climbs the stair,
I fumble at my Childhood's prayer
So soon to be a Child no more -
Eternity, I'm coming - Sir,
Savior - I've seen the face - before!

O You Whom I Often and Silently Come by Walt Whitman

I've always thought this poem was a beautiful representation of unrequited love. Or a nice way to tell someone you're stalking them - your choice :).


O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you,
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is
   playing within me.

Sonnet 22 by William Shakespeare

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date,
But when in thee Time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

Indian Summer by Emily Dickinson

These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old 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 through 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 break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

Laughing Song by William Blake

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;
when the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their sweet round mouths sing "Ha, ha he!"
When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread:
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!"

Sonnet 118 by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Sonnet 145 by William Shakespeare

I first read this sonnet when I was in high school (and no, it was not I assigned - I was reading the sonnets for my own enjoyment) and ever since then it has been one of my favorites. One reason I like it is that it reminds me of the surprise endings of O'Henry; a second reason is that it shows that even Shakespeare, a master of poetry, didn't follow the rules - sonnets are supposed to have ten syllables to a line, but this one only has eight.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
   'I hate' from hate away she threw,
   And saved my life, saying 'not you.'

A Book by Emily Dickinson

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;

He knew no more that he was poor,

Nor that his frame was dust.

He danced along the dingy days,

And this bequest of wings

Was but a book. What liberty

A loosened spirit brings!

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer by Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn'd 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 wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

In a Library by Emily Dickinson

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.

I Sit and Look Out by Walt Whitman

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
   oppression and shame,
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with
   themselves, remorseful after deeds done,
I see in low life the mother misused by her children, dying,
   neglected, gaunt, desperate,
I see the wife misused by her husband, I see the treacherous seducer
   of young women,
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be
   hid, I see these sights on the earth,
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and
   prisoners,
I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who
   shall be kill'd to preserve the lives of the rest,
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
   laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these--all the meanness and agony without end I sitting look out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

Youth, Day, Old Age and Night by Walt Whitman

Youth, large, lusty, loving--youth full of grace, force, fascination,
Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace,
force, fascination?

Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action,
ambition, laughter,

The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and

   restoring darkness.

A Place in Thy Memory by Gerald Griffin

A Place in thy memory, Dearest!
Is all that I claim:
To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.
Another may woo thee, nearer;
Another may win and wear;
I care not though he be dearer,
If I am remember'd there. 

This is just the first verse of "A Place in Thy Memory," and, personally, I think it is the best part of the poem. If you'd like, you can read the rest of it here.

The Wind

This is a poem I wrote several years ago during a boring lecture class. It is based on the story of Cain and Abel and highlights the fact that, prior to the end of that story, there was no mention of cities in the Bible - which could lead us to believe that there were no cities until Cain built them.

There was a time not long ago
When across the earth the Wind did blow
Unstopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
Whispering of births & deadly killings

With rocks & grass & trees 'twas blended
Down lonely vales and canyons wended
Unstopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
And telling of births & deadly killings

Wind saw the first sons, Cain and Abel
Blew o'er their sacrifice on the table
Unstopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
Recalling births & foretelling killings

Cain's poor sacrifice found wanting
While Wind observed Abel's best off'ring
And Cain raged unstopped by a brother's feeling
Forgetting their births & plotting killing

And the Wind blew across the field
Where Cain his brother Abel killed
Unstopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
Remembering births & mourning killings

Then God judged Cain but was merciful
Saying "Cain shall be avenged sevenfold"

While the Wind across the earth was blowing

Observing births & witnessing killings

And the Wind watched the fugitive
Cain go to the land of Nod to live

Unstopped by cities, their sky-high buildings

Recalling births & foretelling killings

Now, almost as in times of long ago
The Wind across the earth does blow
But is stopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
Telling of births & deadly killings

For Cain built cities for his children
While Wind with rocks, grass, trees did blend
Stopped by cities, their sky-high buildings
Still whispering of births & deadly killings

The Pedigree of Honey by Emily Dickinson

The pedigree of honey

Does not concern the bee;

A clover, anytime, to him

Is aristocracy

- Emily Dickinson

(It may not concern a bee, but the pedigree of honey does concern me. Yesterday, I discovered that clover honey tastes a lot better than desert mesquite honey.)