Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Index of First Lines

A bird came down the walk A cap of lead across the sky A charm invests a face A clock stopped—not the mantel’s A death-blow is a life-blow to some A deed knocks first at thought A dew sufficed itself A door just opened on a street Adrift! A little boat adrift! A drop fell on the apple tree Adventure most unto itself A face devoid of love or grace Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? After a hundred years Ah, Teneriffe! A lady red upon the hill A light exists in spring A little overflowing word A little madness in the Spring A little over Jordan A little road not made of man All circumstances are the frame All I may, if small All overgrown by cunning moss A long, long sleep, a famous sleep Alter? When the hills do Ambition cannot find him A modest lot, a fame ‘petite’ Ample make this bed A murmur in the trees to note A narrow fellow in the grass An everywhere of silver An altered look about the hills An awful tempest mashed the air Angels in the early morning A poor torn heart, a tattered heart Apparently with no surprise A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is A prompt, executive Bird is the Jay Arcturus is his other name Are friends delight or pain? A route of evanescence A sepal, petal, and a thorn A shady friend for torrid days A sickness of this world it most occasions As by the dead we love to sit As children bid the guest good-night As far from pity as complaint As if some little Arctic flower As imperceptibly as grief Ashes denote that fire was A sloop of amber slips away A solemn thing it was, I said A something in a summer’s day A spider sewed at night At half-past three a single bird A thought went up my mind to-day A throe upon the features At last to be identified! At least to pray is left, is left A toad can die of light! A train went through a burial gate A triumph may be of several kinds A word is dead A wounded deer leaps highest Beauty crowds me till I die Because I could not stop for Death Before I got my eye put out Before the ice is in the pools Before you thought of spring Belshazzar had a letter Bereaved of all, I went abroad Besides the autumn poets sing Blazing in gold and quenching in purple Bless God, he went as soldiers Bloom upon the Mountain, stated Bring me the sunset in a cup Candor, my tepid Friend Come slowly, Eden! Could I but ride indefinite Could mortal lip divine Crisis is sweet and, set of Heart Dare you see a soul at the white heat? Dear March, come in! Death is a dialogue between Death is like the insect Death sets a thing significant Delayed till she had ceased to know Delight becomes pictorial Departed to the judgment Did the harebell loose her girdle Distance is not the realm of Fox Doubt me, my dim companion! Down Time’s quaint stream Drab habitation of whom? Dropped into the Drowning is not so pitiful Dust is the only secret Each life converges to some centre Each that we lose takes part of us Eden is that old-fashioned House Elijah’s wagon knew no thill Elysium is as far as to Essential oils are wrung Except the heaven had come so near Except the smaller size, no Lives are round Except to heaven, she is nought Exhilaration is the Breeze Experiment to me Exultation is the going Faith is a fine invention Fame is a fickle food Far from love the Heavenly Father Farther in summer than the birds Fate slew him, but he did not drop Father, I bring thee not myself Few get enough,—enough is one Finite to fail, but infinite to venture Follow wise Orion Forbidden fruit a flavor has For Death,—or rather For each ecstatic instant Forever cherished be the tree Frequently the woods are pink From all the jails the boys and girls From cocoon forth a butterfly From use she wandered now a year Give little anguish Given in marriage unto thee Glee! the great storm is over! Glory is that bright tragic thing Glowing is her Bonnet God gave a loaf to every bird God made a little gentian God permits industrious angels Going to heaven! Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him Good night! which put the candle out? Great streets of silence led away Had this one day not been Have you got a brook in your little heart Heart not so heavy as mine Heart, we will forget him! He ate and drank the precious words Heaven is what I cannot reach! ‘Heavenly Father,’ take to thee He fumbles at your spirit He preached upon ‘breadth’ He put the belt around my life Her final summer was it Her Grace is all she has Her ‘Last Poems’ He touched me, so I live to know High from the earth I heard a bird His bill an auger is His Cheek is his Biographer His mind, of man a secret makes Hope is a subtle glutton Hope is the thing with feathers How dare the robins sing How destitute is he How happy is the little stone How many times these low feet staggered How still the bells in steeples stand How the old mountains drip with sunset I asked no other thing I bet with every Wind that blew I breathed enough to learn the trick I bring an unaccustomed wine I can’t tell you, but you feel it I can wade grief I cannot live with you I did not reach thee I died for beauty, but was scarce I dreaded that first robin so I envy seas whereon he rides If anybody’s friend be dead I felt a cleavage in my mind I felt a funeral in my brain If I can stop one heart from breaking If I could tell how glad I was If I may have it when it ’s dead If I should die If I should n’t be alive I fit for them I found the phrase to every thought If pain for peace prepares If recollecting were forgetting If the foolish call them ‘flowers’ If tolling bell I ask the cause If what we could were what we would If you were coming in the fall I gained it so I gave myself to him I had a daily bliss I had a guinea golden I had been hungry all the years I had no cause to be awake I had no time to hate, because I have a king who does not speak I have no life but this I have not told my garden yet I heard a fly buzz when I died I held a jewel in my fingers I hide myself within my flower I know a place where summer strives I know some lonely houses off the road I know that he exists I like a look of agony I like to see it lap the miles I live with him, I see his face I lived on dread; to those who know I ’ll tell you how the sun rose I lost a world the other day I many times thought peace had come I ’m ceded, I ’ve stopped being theirs I meant to find her when I came I meant to have but modest needs I measure every grief I meet Immortal is an ample word Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! I ’m nobody! Who are you? I ’m thinking of that other morn I ’m wife; I ’ve finished that I never hear the word ‘escape’ I never lost as much but twice I never saw a moor I never told the buried gold In lands I never saw, they say I noticed people disappeared In winter, in my room I read my sentence steadily I reason, earth is short Is bliss, then, such abyss I see thee better in the dark I send two Sunsets I shall know why, when time is over Is Heaven a physician? I should have been too glad, I see I should not dare to leave my friend I showed her heights she never saw I sing to use the waiting I started early, took my dog I stepped from plank to plank It can’t be summer,—that got through It dropped so low in my regard It makes no difference abroad It might be easier It ’s all I have to bring to-day It sifts from leaden sieves It ’s like the light It sounded as if the streets were running It ’s such a little thing to weep It struck me every day It tossed and tossed It was not death, for I stood up It was too late for man I taste a liquor never brewed I think just how my shape will rise I think that the root of the Wind is Water I think the hemlock likes to stand I took my power in my hand I ’ve got an arrow here I ’ve seen a dying eye I watched her face to see which way I went to heaven I went to thank her I wish I knew that woman’s name I wonder if the sepulchre I worked for chaff, and earning wheat I years had been from home Just lost when I was saved! Just so, Jesus raps—He does not weary Lay this laurel on the one Let down the bars, O Death! Let me not mar that perfect dream Life, and Death, and Giants Lightly stepped a yellow star Like brooms of steel Like Men and Women shadows walk Like mighty footlights burned the red Like some old-fashioned miracle Like trains of cars on tracks of plush Look back on time with kindly eyes Love is anterior to life Love reckons by itself alone Low at my problem bending March is the month of expectation Me! Come! My dazzled face Mine by the right of the white election! Mine enemy is growing old Morning is the place for dew ‘Morning’ means ‘Milking’ to the Farmer Morns like these we parted Much madness is divinest sense Musicians wrestle everywhere My cocoon tightens, colors tease My country need not change her gown My friend must be a bird My life closed twice before its close My nosegays are for captives My river runs to thee My Wheel is in the dark My worthiness is all my doubt Nature is what we see Nature rarer uses yellow Nature, the gentlest mother New feet within my garden go No Autumn’s intercepting chill No brigadier throughout the year No matter where the Saints abide No other can reduce No rack can torture me No romance sold unto Not any higher stands the grave Not any sunny tone Not in this world to see his face Not knowing when the dawn will come Not one by Heaven defrauded stay Not when we know Not with a club the heart is broken Of tribulation these are they Of all the souls that stand create Of all the sounds despatched abroad Of bronze and blaze Of Death the sharpest function Of so divine a loss Of this is Day composed One blessing had I, than the rest One day is there of the series One dignity delays for all One need not be a chamber to be haunted One of the ones that Midas touched One sister have I in our house On my volcano grows the grass On such a night, or such a night On the bleakness of my lot On this long storm the rainbow rose On this wondrous sea Our journey had advanced Our lives are Swiss Our share of night to bear Pain has an element of blank Papa above! Perception of an Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower? Peril as a possession Pigmy seraphs gone astray Pink, small, and punctual Pompless no life can pass away Poor little heart! Portraits are to daily faces Prayer is the little implement Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it Read, sweet, how others strove ‘Remember me,’ implored the Thief Remembrance has a rear and front Remorse is memory awake Reverse cannot befall that fine Prosperity Safe Despair it is that raves Safe in their alabaster chambers She died at play She died,—this was the way she died She laid her docile crescent down She rose to his requirement, dropped She slept beneath a tree She sweeps with many-colored brooms She went as quiet as the dew Sleep is supposed to be So bashful when I spied her So, from the mould Softened by Time’s consummate plush So gay a flower bereaved the mind Some Days retired from the rest Some keep the Sabbath going to church Some rainbow coming from the fair! Some things that fly there be Some, too fragile for winter winds So proud she was to die So set its sun in thee Soul, wilt thou toss again? South winds jostle them Sown in dishonor? Speech is a symptom of affection Split the lark and you ’ll find the music Step lightly on this narrow spot! Success is counted sweetest Summer begins to have the look Summer for thee grant I may be Superfluous were the sun Superiority to fate Surgeons must be very careful Sweet hours have perished here Sweet is the swamp with its secrets Taken from men this morning Talk with prudence to a beggar ’T is an honorable thought ’T is little I could care for pearls ’T is so much joy! ’T is sunrise, little maid, hast thou ’T is whiter than an Indian pipe That I did always love That is solemn we have ended That Love is all there is That she forgot me was the least That short, potential stir That such have died enables us The bat is dun with wrinkled wings The bee is not afraid of me The Bible is an antique volume The blunder is to estimate The body grows outside The bone that has no marrow The brain is wider than the sky The brain within its groove The bustle in a house The butterfly’s assumption-gown The butterfly obtains The clouds their backs together laid The cricket sang The daisy follows soft the sun The day came slow, till five o’clock The Devil, had he fidelity The difference between despair The distance that the dead have gone The Duties of the Wind are few The dying need but little, dear The Face we choose to miss The farthest thunder that I heard The feet of people walking home The Future never spoke The gentian weaves her fringes The gleam of an heroic act The grass so little has to do The grave my little cottage is The healed Heart shows its shallow scar The heart asks pleasure first The Hills erect their purple heads The incidents of Love The inundation of the Spring Their height in heaven comforts not The largest fire ever known The last night that she lived The leaves, like women, interchange The long sigh of the Frog The Look of Thee, what is it like? The luxury to apprehend The missing All prevented me The Moon upon her fluent route The moon is distant from the sea The moon was but a chin of gold The morns are meeker than they were The mountain sat upon the plain The murmur of a bee The murmuring of bees has ceased The mushroom is the elf of plants The nearest dream recedes, unrealized The night was wide, and furnished scant The one that could repeat the summer day The Ones that disappeared are back The only ghost I ever saw The overtakelessness of those The past is such a curious creature The pedigree of honey The props assist the house The rat is the concisest tenant There ’s something quieter than sleep There came a day at summer’s full There came a wind like a bugle There is a flower that bees prefer There is a shame of nobleness There is a solitude of space There is a word There is another Loneliness There is no frigate like a book There’s a certain slant of light There’s been a death in the opposite house The reticent volcano keeps The right to perish might be thought The robin is the one The rose did caper on her cheek These are the days that Reindeer love These are the days when birds come back The Sea said ‘Come’ to the Brook The show is not the show The skies can’t keep their secret! The sky is low, the clouds are mean The Soul that has a Guest The soul selects her own society The soul should always stand ajar The Soul’s superior instants The soul unto itself The spider as an artist The springtime’s pallid landscape The Stars are old, that stood for me The stimulus, beyond the grave The suburbs of a secret The sun just touched the morning The sun kept setting, setting still The sweets of Pillage can be known The thought beneath so slight a film The treason of an accent The way I read a letter’s this The wind begun to rock the grass The wind tapped like a tired man The Winds drew off They won’t frown always—some sweet day They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars They say that ‘time assuages’ This is my letter to the world This is the land the sunset washes This merit hath the worst This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies This was in the white of the year This world is not conclusion Those final Creatures,—who they are Though I get home how late, how late! Three weeks passed since I had seen her Through lane it lay, through bramble Through the straight pass of suffering Tie the strings to my life, my Lord Title divine is mine To be alive is power To-day or this noon To fight aloud is very brave To hang our head ostensibly To hear an oriole sing To help our bleaker parts To know just how he suffered would be dear To learn the transport by the pain To lose one’s faith surpasses To lose thee, sweeter than to gain To love thee, year by year To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee To my quick ear the leaves conferred Too cold is this To pile like Thunder to its close To see her is a picture To tell the beauty would decrease To the staunch Dust we safe commit thee To this apartment deep To venerate the simple days ’T was a long parting, but the time ’T was comfort in her dying room ’T was just this time last year I died ’T was later when the summer went ’T was such a little, little boat Two butterflies went out at noon Two lengths has every day Two swimmers wrestled on the spar Undue significance a starving man attaches Unto my books so good to turn Upon the gallows hung a wretch Victory comes late Volcanoes be in Sicily Wait till the majesty of Death Water is taught by thirst We cover thee, sweet face We learn in the retreating We like March, his shoes are purple We never know how high we are We never know we go,—when we are going Went up a year this evening! We outgrow love like other things We play at paste We should not mind so small a flower We spy the Forests and the Hills We thirst at first,—’t is Nature’s act What if I say I shall not wait? What inn is this What mystery pervades a well! What soft, cherubic creatures When Etna basks and purrs When I hoped I feared When I was small, a woman died When night is almost done When roses cease to bloom, dear Where every bird is bold to go Where ships of purple gently toss Whether my bark went down at sea While I was fearing it, it came Who has not found the heaven below Who is it seeks my pillow nights? Who never wanted,—maddest joy Who never lost, are unprepared Who robbed the woods ‘Whose are the little beds,’ I asked Who were ‘the Father and the Son’ Wild nights! Wild nights! Will there really be a morning? Witchcraft has not a pedigree Within my reach! You cannot put a fire out You left me, sweet, two legacies Your riches taught me poverty You ’ve seen balloons set, haven’t you?