Emily Dickinson Poems

We play at paste,
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
...

934

That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
...

He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,
...

205

I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because—because if he should die
...

I am alive—I guess—
The Branches on my Hand
...

179

If I could bribe them by a Rose
I'd bring them every flower that grows
...

54

If I should die,
And you should live—
...

949

Under the Light, yet under,
Under the Grass and the Dirt,
...

'Twas Crisis—All the length had passed—
That dull—benumbing time
There is in Fever or Event—
And now the Chance had come—
...

599

There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
...