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Emily Dickinson

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Sam Balanon

on 9 October 2012

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Transcript of Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson Early Years (1830-1860) Later Years (1861-1886) ~Washington Irvine
~Sir Walter Scott
~Byron and
~Wordsworth
~Longfellow
~Tennyson
~Dickens,
~Brontes
~Elizabeth Barrett
~Browning The Later Years (1865-1886) Early Influences The Writing Years (1855-1865) She offered Thomas Wentworth Higginson her own definintion of poetry:“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?”Helen Hunt Jacksonbegged Dickinson to contribute a poem to a volume of anonymous verse:"Would it be of any use to ask you once more for one or two of your poems, to come out in the volume of 'no name' poetry which is to be published before long by Roberts Bros.? If you will give me permission I will copy them—sending them in my own handwriting—and promise never to tell any one, not even the publishers, whose the poems are. Could you not bear this much of publicity? only you and I would recognize the poems." –Dickinson's poem "Success is counted sweetest" does appear in A Masque of Poets (1878), though whether Dickinson actually gave advance permission is still in question."The Crisis of the sorrow of so many years is all that tires me"Fac-Similie of “Renunciation” printed in the First volume of her books. Poem 632 without dashes
'
The Brain ­ is wider than the Sky ­
For ­ put them side by side ­
The one the other will contain
With ease ­ and You ­ beside ­

The Brain is deeper than the sea ­
For ­ hold them ­ Blue to Blue ­
The one the other will absorb ­
As Sponges ­ Buckets ­ do ­

The Brain is just the weight of God ­
For ­ Heft them ­ Pound for Pound ­
And they will differ ­ if they do ­
As Syllable from Sound ­ Poem 632 with dashes

The Brain -- is wider than the Sky --
For -- put them side by side --
The one the other will contain
With ease -- and You -- beside --

The Brain is deeper than the sea --
For -- hold them -- Blue to Blue --
The one the other will absorb --
As Sponges -- Buckets -- do --

The Brain is just the weight of God --
For -- Heft them -- Pound for Pound --
And they will differ -- if they do --
As Syllable from Sound -- 254

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me. 112
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear! "I am growing handsome very fast indeed! I expect I shall be the belle of Amherst when I reach my 17th year. I don't doubt that I will have crowds of admirers at that age"  

"I’ve been in the habit myself of writing some few things, and it rather appears to me that you’re getting away my patent, so you’d better be somewhat careful, or I’ll call the police!” The Writing Years (1855-1865) The Early Childhood and Youth (1830-1855) The Later Years (1865-1886) She offered Thomas Wentworth Higginson her own definition of poetry:
"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way? Helen Hunt Jackson begged Dickinson to contribute a poem to a volume of anonymous verse: "would it be of any use to ask you once more for one or two of your poems, to come out in the volume of 'no name' poetry which is to be published before long by Roberts Bros.? If you will give me permission I will copy them-sending them in my own handwriting-and promise never to tell anyone, not even the publishers, whose the poems are. Could you not bear this much of publicity? Only you and I would recognize the poems." 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 Died For Beauty, But was scarce I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl --
I read that Foreign Lady --
The Dark -- felt beautiful --

And whether it was noon at night --
Or only Heaven -- at Noon --
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell --

The Bees -- became as Butterflies --
The Butterflies -- as Swans --
Approached -- and spurned the narrow Grass --
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer --
I took for Giants -- practising
Titanic Opera --

The Days -- to Mighty Metres stept --
The Homeliest -- adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
'Twere suddenly confirmed --

I could not have defined the change --
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul --
Is witnessed -- not explained --

'Twas a Divine Insanity --
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience --
'Tis Antidote to turn --

To Tomes of solid Witchcraft --
Magicians be asleep --
But Magic -- hath an Element
Like Deity -- to keep -- I Think I was enchanted
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