The lonesome for they know not What —
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) English
The lonesome for they know not What —
The Eastern Exiles — be —
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday —
And ever since — the purple Moat
They strive to climb — in vain —
As Birds — that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain —
The Blessed Ether — taught them —
Some Transatlantic Morn —
When Heaven — was too common — to miss —
Too sure — to dote upon!
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— …
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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 →