Emily Dickinson's Poems

Emily Dickinson (1830 to 1886).

[#1438]

Behold this little Bane--
The Boon of all alive--
As common as it is unknown
The name of it is Love--

To lack of it is Woe--
To own of it is Wound--
Not elsewhere--if in Paradise
Its Tantamount be found--

[#249]

Wild Nights - Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the Winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor - Tonight -
In Thee!

[#627]

The Tint I cannot take — is best --
The Color too remote
That I could show it in Bazaar --
A Guinea at a sight --

The fine — impalpable Array --
That swaggers on the eye
Like Cleopatra's Company --
Repeated — in the sky --

The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite — to tell --

The eager look — on Landscapes --
As if they just repressed
Some Secret — that was pushing
Like Chariots — in the Vest --

The Pleading of the Summer --
That other Prank — of Snow --
That Cushions Mystery with Tulle,
For fear the Squirrels -- know.

Their Graspless manners — mock us --
Until the Cheated Eye
Shuts arrogantly — in the Grave --
Another way — to see --

By E E Cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss,  i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new