“Civilization — spurns — the Leopard!” — Emily Dickinson

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“One day is there of the series / Termed Thanksgiving day” — Emily Dickinson

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“Publication – is the Auction” — Emily Dickinson

“Publication – is the Auction”

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Emily Dickinson

Publication—is the Auction
Of the Mind of Man—
Poverty—be justifying
For so foul a thing

Possibly—but We—would rather
From Our Garret go
White—Unto the White Creator—
Than invest—Our Snow—

Thought belong to Him who gave it—
Then—to Him Who bear
Its Corporeal illustration—Sell
The Royal Air—

In the Parcel—Be the Merchant
Of the Heavenly Grace—
But reduce no Human Spirit
To Disgrace of Price—

Or shroud of gnome / Himself, himself inform (Emily Dickinson)

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“Don’t you know you” –Emily Dickinson

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Spectre cannot harm (Emily Dickinson)

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A fine, pedantic sunshine (Emily Dickinson)

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Keen and quivering ratio (Emily Dickinson)

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Fail again (Emily Dickinson)

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“Will there really be a morning?” — Emily Dickinson

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Esoteric time (Emily Dickinson)

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“Pain has an element of blank” — Emily Dickinson

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“We play at paste” — Emily Dickinson

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“The pedigree of honey” — Emily Dickinson

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“One Year ago–jots what?” — Emily Dickinson

“One Year ago–jots what?”

by

Emily Dickinson

One Year ago—jots what?
God—spell the word! I—can’t—
Was’t Grace? Not that—
Was’t Glory? That—will do—
Spell slower—Glory—

Such Anniversary shall be—
Sometimes—not often—in Eternity—
When farther Parted, than the Common Woe—
Look—feed upon each other’s faces—so—
In doubtful meal, if it be possible
Their Banquet’s true—

I tasted—careless—then—
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World—Did you?
Oh, had you told me so—
This Thirst would blister—easier—now—
You said it hurt you—most—
Mine—was an Acorn’s Breast—
And could not know how fondness grew
In Shaggier Vest—
Perhaps—I couldn’t—
But, had you looked in—
A Giant—eye to eye with you, had been—
No Acorn—then—

So—Twelve months ago—
We breathed—
Then dropped the Air—
Which bore it best?
Was this—the patientest—
Because it was a Child, you know—
And could not value—Air?

If to be “Elder”—mean most pain—
I’m old enough, today, I’m certain—then—
As old as thee—how soon?
One—Birthday more—or Ten?
Let me—choose!
Ah, Sir, None!

“I many times thought peace had come” — Emily Dickinson

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“As by the dead we love to sit” — Emily Dickinson

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