I think the Hemlock likes to stand
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow —
It suits his own Austerity —
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness —
And in the Desert — cloy —
An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald —
Lapland's — necessity —
The Hemlock's nature thrives — on cold —
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment — to him —
His best Norwegian Wines —
To satin Races — he is nought —
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— …
-
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
-
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
-
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …
All poems by Emily Dickinson →