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Part 38

Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson — chapter 38 of 70 · ~360 words · public domain

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The leaves, like women, interchange Sagacious confidence; Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of Portentous inference,

The parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy, -- Inviolable compact To notoriety.

XXXIII.

SIMPLICITY.

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.

XXXIV.

STORM.

It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still. Eclipse was all we could see at the window, And awe was all we could feel.

By and by the boldest stole out of his covert, To see if time was there. Nature was in her beryl apron, Mixing fresher air.

XXXV.

THE RAT.

The rat is the concisest tenant. He pays no rent, -- Repudiates the obligation, On schemes intent.

Balking our wit To sound or circumvent, Hate cannot harm A foe so reticent.

Neither decree Prohibits him, Lawful as Equilibrium.

XXXVI.

Frequently the woods are pink, Frequently are brown; Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

Oft a head is crested I was wont to see, And as oft a cranny Where it used to be.

And the earth, they tell me, On its axis turned, -- Wonderful rotation By but twelve performed!

XXXVII.

A THUNDER-STORM.

The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low, -- He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky.

The leaves unhooked themselves from trees And started all abroad; The dust did scoop itself like hands And throw away the road.

The wagons quickened on the streets, The thunder hurried slow; The lightning showed a yellow beak, And then a livid claw.

The birds put up the bars to nests, The cattle fled to barns; There came one drop of giant rain, And then, as if the hands

That held the dams had parted hold, The waters wrecked the sky, But overlooked my father's house, Just quartering a tree.

XXXVIII.

WITH FLOWERS.

South winds jostle them, Bumblebees come, Hover, hesitate, Drink, and are gone.

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Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · The Wunder Library — complete classics, free to read, with narration.

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