The Shutting Of The Eye

XXXVIII

SLEEP is supposed to be,     

By souls of sanity,   

The shutting of the eye.

 

Sleep is the station grand    

Down which on either hand         

The hosts of witness stand! 

 

Morn is supposed to be,

By people of degree,     

The breaking of the day.

 

Morning has not occurred!          

That shall aurora be

East of eternity;

 

One with the banner gay,    

One in the red array,—  

That is the break of day.   

Emily Dickinson  


  

The Rat Is The Concisest Tenant

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Madeleine Morris

Some who might visit this blog from time to time may have noticed the pattern of Emily Dickinson poems illustrated with my photographs. At one point (when I started) I would look at one of my pictures and then look for a Dickinson poem that might go hand in hand. But now the process is backwards. On my bed table I have this handsome The Poetry of Emily Dickinson that I bought at Chapters last year. I read it at bedtime and inspiration hits with frequency.

XXXV

THE RAT is the concisest tenant.

He pays no rent,—  

Repudiates the obligation,   

On schemes intent. 

 

Balking our wit         

To sound or circumvent,     

Hate cannot harm   

A foe so reticent.    

 

Neither decree  

Prohibits him,           

Lawful as    

Equilibrium.

The rat is the concisest tenant
The light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
 I took my power in my hand
 I find my feet have further goals
 I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze 
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
 We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone! 
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red 
Me-come! My dazzled face  
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/01/i-felt-my-life-with-both-my-hands.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/tell-truth-but-tell-it-slant.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/theres-certain-slant-of-light.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/then-mashes-it-to-death.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/adjusted-to-tomb.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html 
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/blonde-assasin-passes-on.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/12/dirk-commemorate-itself.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/12/lawful-as-equilibrium.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/12/there-is-no-frigate-like-book.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/12/light-is-sufficient-to-itself.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/11/thanatos-two-tiny-rhododendrons.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/12/you-almost-bathed-your-tongue.html