Four Poems of Emily Dickinson

How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life-
Poured thee, without a stint-
The whole of me-forever-
What more the Woman can,
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last Delight I own!

It cannot be my Spirit-
For that was thine, before-
I ceded all of Dust I knew-
What Opulence the more
Had I-a freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was-that she might-
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise-
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire's Eyes-
Winnow her finest fondness-
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake-
Oh, Caviler, for you!

I Years had been from Home
And now before the Door
I dared not enter, lest a Face
I never saw before

Stare solid into mine
And ask my Business there --
"My Business but a Life I left
Was such remaining there?"

I leaned upon the Awe --
I lingered with Before --
The Second like an Ocean rolled
And broke against my ear --

I laughed a crumbling Laugh
That I could fear a Door
Who Consternation compassed
And never winced before.

I fitted to the Latch
My Hand, with trembling care
Lest back the awful Door should spring
And leave me in the Floor --

Then moved my Fingers off
As cautiously as Glass
And held my ears, and like a Thief
Fled gasping from the House --

My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!

I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks, -

Say, sea, take me!