The Dover Anthology of American Literature Volume II Read Online Free Page A

stood up,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And all the dead lie down;
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  It was not night, for all the bells
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Put out their tongues, for noon.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  It was not frost, for on my flesh
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I felt siroccos crawl,—
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Nor fire, for just my marble feet
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Could keep a chancel cool.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And yet it tasted like them all;
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  The figures I have seen
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Set orderly, for burial,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Reminded me of mine,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  As if my life were shaven
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And fitted to a frame,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And could not breathe without a key;
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And ’t was like midnight, some,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  When everything that ticked has stopped,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And space stares, all around,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Repeal the beating ground.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  But most like chaos,—stopless, cool,—
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Without a chance or spar,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Or even a report of land
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  To justify despair.
    S OURCE:
Poems by Emily Dickinson: Edited by Two of Her Friends, Mabel Loomis Todd and T. W. Higginson.
Second Series. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1892.
    [ The Railway Train] (c. 1862)
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I like to see it lap the miles,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And lick the valleys up,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And stop to feed itself at tanks;
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And then, prodigious, step
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Around a pile of mountains,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And, supercilious, peer
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  In shanties by the sides of roads;
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And then a quarry pare
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  To fit its sides, and crawl between,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Complaining all the while
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  In horrid, hooting