It's a lovely Monday morning, which I surprisingly woke up early for, so I'm in love with today already. Dickinson's been floating around in my head, so why not share some jewels with you, friend?
These are the days when Birds come back --
A very few -- a Bird or two --
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old -- old sophistries of June --
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze --
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake --
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
----
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth,--the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms.
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
----
I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true —
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe —
The Eyes glaze once — and that is Death —
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.
----
Love is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath.
Take that and linger on it. Enjoy the day!
