Emily Dickinson Songs

Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the Ground,
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found --

Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground --

It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon—
The Flower—distinct and Red—
I, passing, thought another Noon
Another in its stead

Will equal glow, and thought no More
But came another Day
To find the Species disappeared—
The Same Locality—

The Sun in place—no other fraud
On Nature's perfect Sum—
Had I but lingered Yesterday—
Was my retrieveless blame—

Much Flowers of this and further Zones
Have perished in my Hands
For seeking its Resemblance—
But unapproached it stands—

The single Flower of the Earth
That I, in passing by
Unconscious was—Great Nature's Face
Passed infinite by Me—

Bee! I'm expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due --

The Frogs got Home last Week --
Are settled, and at work --
Birds, mostly back --
The Clover warm and thick --

You'll get my Letter by
The Seventeenth; Reply
Or better, be with me --
Yours, Fly.

We cover thee, sweet face.
  Not that we tire of thee,
But that thyself fatigue of us;
  Remember, as thou flee,
We follow thee until
  Thou notice us no more,
And then, reluctant, turn away
  To con thee o'er and o'er,
And blame the scanty love
  We were content to show,
Augmented, sweet, a hundred fold
  If thou would'st take it now.

Wild nights! — Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile — the [Wind]1 —
To a heart in port, —
Done with the Compass, —
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden —
Ah! the Sea!
Might I but moor — Tonight —
In thee!

What inn is this
Where for the night
Peculiar traveller comes?
Who is the landlord?
Where the maids?
Behold, what curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No brimming tankards flow.
Necromancer, landlord,
Who are these below?

I Should not dare to leave my friend,
Because, because if he should die
While I was gone, and I too late
Should reach the heart that wanted me,
 
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so to see
And could not bear to shut until
They noticed me, they noticed me.
 
If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I'd come, so sure I'd come,
It listening, listening went to sleep
Telling my tardy name.
 
My heart would wish it broke before,
Since breaking then, since breaking then
Were useless as next morning's sun
Where midnight's frosts had lain!

Still own thee-still thou art
What surgeons call alive-
Though slipping-slipping I perceive
To thy reportless Grave-

Which question shall I clutch-
What answer wrest from thee
Before thou dost exude away
In the recallless sea?