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Poems by Emily Dickinson

POEMS

by EMILY DICKINSON

Series One

Edited by two of her friends

MABEL LOOMIS TODD and

T.W.HIGGINSON

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Poems by Emily Dickinson

PREFACE

he verses of Emily Dickinson belong emphatically to what Emerson

long since called “the Poetry of the Portfolio,”--something produced

absolutely without the thought of publication, and solely by way of

expression of the writer’s own mind. Such verse must inevitably forfeit whatever

advantage lies in the discipline of public criticism and the enforced conformity

to accepted ways. On the other hand, it may often gain something through the

habit of freedom and the unconventional utterance of daring thoughts. In the

case of the present author, there was absolutely no choice in the matter; she

must write thus, or not at all. A recluse by temperament and habit, literally

spending years without setting her foot beyond the doorstep, and many more

years during which her walks were strictly limited to her father’s grounds, she

habitually concealed her mind, like her person, from all but a very few friends;

and it was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to print, during her

lifetime, three or four poems. Yet she wrote verses in great abundance; and

though brought curiously indifferent to all conventional rules, had yet a

rigorous literary standard of her own, and often altered a word many times to

suit an ear which had its own tenacious fastidiousness.

Miss Dickinson was born in Amherst, Mass., Dec. 10, 1830, and died there May

15, 1886. Her father, Hon. Edward Dickinson, was the leading lawyer of

Amherst, and was treasurer of the well-known college there situated. It was his

custom once a year to hold a large reception at his house, attended by all the

families connected with the institution and by the leading people of the town.

On these occasions his daughter Emily emerged from her wonted retirement and

did her part as gracious hostess; nor would any one have known from her

manner, I have been told, that this was not a daily occurrence.

The annual occasion once past, she withdrew again into her seclusion, and

except for a very few friends was as invisible to the world as if she had dwelt in a

nunnery. For myself, although I had corresponded with her for many years, I

saw her but twice face to face, and brought away the impression of something as

unique and remote as Undine or Mignon or Thekla.

This selection from her poems is published to meet the desire of her personal

friends, and especially of her surviving sister. It is believed that the thoughtful

reader will find in these pages a quality more suggestive of the poetry of William

Blake than of anything to be elsewhere found,--flashes of wholly original and

profound insight into nature and life; words and phrases exhibiting an

extraordinary vividness of descriptive and imaginative power, yet often set in a

seemingly whimsical or even rugged frame. They are here published as they were

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Poems by Emily Dickinson

written, with very few and superficial changes; although it is fair to say that the

titles have been assigned, almost invariably, by the editors. In many cases these

verses will seem to the reader like poetry torn up by the roots, with rain and dew

and earth still clinging to them, giving a freshness and a fragrance not otherwise

to be conveyed. In other cases, as in the few poems of shipwreck or of mental

conflict, we can only wonder at the gift of vivid imagination by which this

recluse woman can delineate, by a few touches, the very crises of physical or

mental struggle. And sometimes again we catch glimpses of a lyric strain,

sustained perhaps but for a line or two at a time, and making the reader regret

its sudden cessation. But the main quality of these poems is that of

extraordinary grasp and insight, uttered with an uneven vigour sometimes

exasperating, seemingly wayward, but really unsought and inevitable. After all,

when a thought takes one’s breath away, a lesson on grammar seems an

impertinence. As Ruskin wrote in his earlier and better days, “No weight nor

mass nor beauty of execution can outweigh one grain or fragment of thought.”

---Thomas Wentworth Higginson

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

s is well documented, Emily Dickinson’s poems were edited in these early

editions by her friends, better to fit the conventions of the times. In

particular, her dashes, often small enough to appear as dots, became

commas and semi-colons.

In the second series of poems published, a facsimile of her handwritten poem

which her editors titled “Renunciation” is given,

and I here transcribe that manuscript as faithfully as I can, showing underlined

words thus.

There came a day - at Summer’s full -

Entirely for me -

I thought that such were for the Saints -

Where Resurrections - be -

The sun - as common - went abroad -

The flowers - accustomed - blew,

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Poems by Emily Dickinson

As if no soul - that solstice passed -

Which maketh all things - new -

The time was scarce profaned - by speech -

The falling of a word

Was needless - as at Sacrament -

The Wardrobe - of our Lord!

Each was to each - the sealed church -

Permitted to commune - this time -

Lest we too awkward show

At Supper of “the Lamb.”

The hours slid fast - as hours will -

Clutched tight - by greedy hands -

So - faces on two Decks look back -

Bound to opposing lands.

And so, when all the time had leaked,

Without external sound,

Each bound the other’s Crucifix -

We gave no other bond -

Sufficient troth - that we shall rise ,

Deposed - at length the Grave -

To that new marriage -

Justified - through Calvaries - of Love!

From the handwriting, it is not always clear which are dashes, which are commas

and which are periods, nor it is entirely clear which initial letters are capitalized.

However, this transcription may be compared with the edited version in the

main text to get a flavour of the changes made

in these early editions.

---JT

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Poems by Emily Dickinson

This is my letter to the world,

That never wrote to me, --

The simple news that Nature told,

With tender majesty.

Her message is committed

To hands I cannot see;

For love of her, sweet countrymen,

Judge tenderly of me!

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Emily Dickinson - Complete Poetry.pdf

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