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Emily lived and died in Amherst, Mass. She was rather reclusive and spent most of her time in the family house. She struggled intensely with religious conflicts which are reflected in some of her writings, as well as her feelings on nature, love and death. Few of her poems were published during her lifetime, while over 1700 were published within 5 years of her death.
Why--do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Did I sing--too loud?
But--I can say a little "Minor"
Timid as a Bird!
Would'nt the Angels try me--
Just--once--more--
Just--see--if I troubled them--
But dont--shut the door!
Oh, if I--were the Gentleman
In the "White Robe"--
And they--were the little Hand--that knocked--
Could--I--forbid?
YOU left me, sweet, two legacies,--
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;
You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me
Forbidden fruit a flavor has
That lawful orchards mocks
How luscious lies the pea within
The pod that Duty locks!
Heaven is what I cannot reach!
The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
That 'heaven' is, to me.
The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind,--
There Paradise is found!
A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
Drowning is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise.
Three times, 't is said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode
Where hope and he part company,--
For he is grasped of God.
The Maker's cordial visage,
However good to see,
Is shunned, we must admit it,
Like an adversity.
MY FAV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church -
I keep it, staying at Home -
With a Bobolink for a Chorister -
And an Orchard, for a Dome -
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice -
I just wear my Wings -
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton - sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman -
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -
I'm going, all along.
This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -
It beckons, and it baffles -
Philosophy - don't know -
And through a Riddle, at the last -
Sagacity, must go -
To guess it, puzzles scholars -
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown -
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies -
Blushes, if any see -
Plucks at a twig of Evidence -
And asks a Vane, the way -
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -
Strong Hallelujahs roll -
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul -
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!
I HIDE myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too--
And angels know the rest.
I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.
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