Verse > Emily Dickinson > Complete Poems > Index of First Lines
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Index of First Lines


A bird came down the walk
A cap of lead across the sky
A charm invests a face
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
A deed knocks first at thought
A dew sufficed itself
A door just opened on a street
Adrift! A little boat adrift!
A drop fell on the apple tree
Adventure most unto itself
A face devoid of love or grace
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
After a hundred years
Ah, Teneriffe!
A lady red upon the hill
A light exists in spring
A little overflowing word
A little madness in the Spring
A little over Jordan
A little road not made of man
All circumstances are the frame
All I may, if small
All overgrown by cunning moss
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
Alter? When the hills do
Ambition cannot find him
A modest lot, a fame ‘petite
Ample make this bed
A murmur in the trees to note
A narrow fellow in the grass
An everywhere of silver
An altered look about the hills
An awful tempest mashed the air
Angels in the early morning
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart
Apparently with no surprise
A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is
A prompt, executive Bird is the Jay
Arcturus is his other name
Are friends delight or pain?
A route of evanescence
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
A shady friend for torrid days
A sickness of this world it most occasions
As by the dead we love to sit
As children bid the guest good-night
As far from pity as complaint
As if some little Arctic flower
As imperceptibly as grief
Ashes denote that fire was
A sloop of amber slips away
A solemn thing it was, I said
A something in a summer’s day
A spider sewed at night
At half-past three a single bird
A thought went up my mind to-day
A throe upon the features
At last to be identified!
At least to pray is left, is left
A toad can die of light!
A train went through a burial gate
A triumph may be of several kinds
A word is dead
A wounded deer leaps highest

Beauty crowds me till I die
Because I could not stop for Death
Before I got my eye put out
Before the ice is in the pools
Before you thought of spring
Belshazzar had a letter
Bereaved of all, I went abroad
Besides the autumn poets sing
Blazing in gold and quenching in purple
Bless God, he went as soldiers
Bloom upon the Mountain, stated
Bring me the sunset in a cup

Candor, my tepid Friend
Come slowly, Eden!
Could I but ride indefinite
Could mortal lip divine
Crisis is sweet and, set of Heart

Dare you see a soul at the white heat?
Dear March, come in!
Death is a dialogue between
Death is like the insect
Death sets a thing significant
Delayed till she had ceased to know
Delight becomes pictorial
Departed to the judgment
Did the harebell loose her girdle
Distance is not the realm of Fox
Doubt me, my dim companion!
Down Time’s quaint stream
Drab habitation of whom?
Dropped into the
Drowning is not so pitiful
Dust is the only secret

Each life converges to some centre
Each that we lose takes part of us
Eden is that old-fashioned House
Elijah’s wagon knew no thill
Elysium is as far as to
Essential oils are wrung
Except the heaven had come so near
Except the smaller size, no Lives are round
Except to heaven, she is nought
Exhilaration is the Breeze
Experiment to me
Exultation is the going

Faith is a fine invention
Fame is a fickle food
Far from love the Heavenly Father
Farther in summer than the birds
Fate slew him, but he did not drop
Father, I bring thee not myself
Few get enough,—enough is one
Finite to fail, but infinite to venture
Follow wise Orion
Forbidden fruit a flavor has
For Death,—or rather
For each ecstatic instant
Forever cherished be the tree
Frequently the woods are pink
From all the jails the boys and girls
From cocoon forth a butterfly
From use she wandered now a year

Give little anguish
Given in marriage unto thee
Glee! the great storm is over!
Glory is that bright tragic thing
Glowing is her Bonnet
God gave a loaf to every bird
God made a little gentian
God permits industrious angels
Going to heaven!
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him
Good night! which put the candle out?
Great streets of silence led away

Had this one day not been
Have you got a brook in your little heart
Heart not so heavy as mine
Heart, we will forget him!
He ate and drank the precious words
Heaven is what I cannot reach!
Heavenly Father,’ take to thee
He fumbles at your spirit
He preached upon ‘breadth
He put the belt around my life
Her final summer was it
Her Grace is all she has
Her ‘Last Poems
He touched me, so I live to know
High from the earth I heard a bird
His bill an auger is
His Cheek is his Biographer
His mind, of man a secret makes
Hope is a subtle glutton
Hope is the thing with feathers
How dare the robins sing
How destitute is he
How happy is the little stone
How many times these low feet staggered
How still the bells in steeples stand
How the old mountains drip with sunset

I asked no other thing
I bet with every Wind that blew
I breathed enough to learn the trick
I bring an unaccustomed wine
I can’t tell you, but you feel it
I can wade grief
I cannot live with you
I did not reach thee
I died for beauty, but was scarce
I dreaded that first robin so
I envy seas whereon he rides
If anybody’s friend be dead
I felt a cleavage in my mind
I felt a funeral in my brain
If I can stop one heart from breaking
If I could tell how glad I was
If I may have it when it ’s dead
If I should die
If I should n’t be alive
I fit for them
I found the phrase to every thought
If pain for peace prepares
If recollecting were forgetting
If the foolish call them ‘flowers
If tolling bell I ask the cause
If what we could were what we would
If you were coming in the fall
I gained it so
I gave myself to him
I had a daily bliss
I had a guinea golden
I had been hungry all the years
I had no cause to be awake
I had no time to hate, because
I have a king who does not speak
I have no life but this
I have not told my garden yet
I heard a fly buzz when I died
I held a jewel in my fingers
I hide myself within my flower
I know a place where summer strives
I know some lonely houses off the road
I know that he exists
I like a look of agony
I like to see it lap the miles
I live with him, I see his face
I lived on dread; to those who know
I ’ll tell you how the sun rose
I lost a world the other day
I many times thought peace had come
I ’m ceded, I ’ve stopped being theirs
I meant to find her when I came
I meant to have but modest needs
I measure every grief I meet
Immortal is an ample word
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell!
I ’m nobody! Who are you?
I ’m thinking of that other morn
I ’m wife; I ’ve finished that
I never hear the word ‘escape
I never lost as much but twice
I never saw a moor
I never told the buried gold
In lands I never saw, they say
I noticed people disappeared
In winter, in my room
I read my sentence steadily
I reason, earth is short
Is bliss, then, such abyss
I see thee better in the dark
I send two Sunsets
I shall know why, when time is over
Is Heaven a physician?
I should have been too glad, I see
I should not dare to leave my friend
I showed her heights she never saw
I sing to use the waiting
I started early, took my dog
I stepped from plank to plank
It can’t be summer,—that got through
It dropped so low in my regard
It makes no difference abroad
It might be easier
It ’s all I have to bring to-day
It sifts from leaden sieves
It ’s like the light
It sounded as if the streets were running
It ’s such a little thing to weep
It struck me every day
It tossed and tossed
It was not death, for I stood up
It was too late for man
I taste a liquor never brewed
I think just how my shape will rise
I think that the root of the Wind is Water
I think the hemlock likes to stand
I took my power in my hand
I ’ve got an arrow here
I ’ve seen a dying eye
I watched her face to see which way
I went to heaven
I went to thank her
I wish I knew that woman’s name
I wonder if the sepulchre
I worked for chaff, and earning wheat
I years had been from home

Just lost when I was saved!
Just so, Jesus raps—He does not weary

Lay this laurel on the one
Let down the bars, O Death!
Let me not mar that perfect dream
Life, and Death, and Giants
Lightly stepped a yellow star
Like brooms of steel
Like Men and Women shadows walk
Like mighty footlights burned the red
Like some old-fashioned miracle
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
Look back on time with kindly eyes
Love is anterior to life
Love reckons by itself alone
Low at my problem bending

March is the month of expectation
Me! Come! My dazzled face
Mine by the right of the white election!
Mine enemy is growing old
Morning is the place for dew
Morning’ means ‘Milking’ to the Farmer
Morns like these we parted
Much madness is divinest sense
Musicians wrestle everywhere
My cocoon tightens, colors tease
My country need not change her gown
My friend must be a bird
My life closed twice before its close
My nosegays are for captives
My river runs to thee
My Wheel is in the dark
My worthiness is all my doubt

Nature is what we see
Nature rarer uses yellow
Nature, the gentlest mother
New feet within my garden go
No Autumn’s intercepting chill
No brigadier throughout the year
No matter where the Saints abide
No other can reduce
No rack can torture me
No romance sold unto
Not any higher stands the grave
Not any sunny tone
Not in this world to see his face
Not knowing when the dawn will come
Not one by Heaven defrauded stay
Not when we know
Not with a club the heart is broken

Of tribulation these are they
Of all the souls that stand create
Of all the sounds despatched abroad
Of bronze and blaze
Of Death the sharpest function
Of so divine a loss
Of this is Day composed
One blessing had I, than the rest
One day is there of the series
One dignity delays for all
One need not be a chamber to be haunted
One of the ones that Midas touched
One sister have I in our house
On my volcano grows the grass
On such a night, or such a night
On the bleakness of my lot
On this long storm the rainbow rose
On this wondrous sea
Our journey had advanced
Our lives are Swiss
Our share of night to bear

Pain has an element of blank
Papa above!
Perception of an
Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower?
Peril as a possession
Pigmy seraphs gone astray
Pink, small, and punctual
Pompless no life can pass away
Poor little heart!
Portraits are to daily faces
Prayer is the little implement
Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it

Read, sweet, how others strove
Remember me,’ implored the Thief
Remembrance has a rear and front
Remorse is memory awake
Reverse cannot befall that fine Prosperity

Safe Despair it is that raves
Safe in their alabaster chambers
She died at play
She died,—this was the way she died
She laid her docile crescent down
She rose to his requirement, dropped
She slept beneath a tree
She sweeps with many-colored brooms
She went as quiet as the dew
Sleep is supposed to be
So bashful when I spied her
So, from the mould
Softened by Time’s consummate plush
So gay a flower bereaved the mind
Some Days retired from the rest
Some keep the Sabbath going to church
Some rainbow coming from the fair!
Some things that fly there be
Some, too fragile for winter winds
So proud she was to die
So set its sun in thee
Soul, wilt thou toss again?
South winds jostle them
Sown in dishonor?
Speech is a symptom of affection
Split the lark and you ’ll find the music
Step lightly on this narrow spot!
Success is counted sweetest
Summer begins to have the look
Summer for thee grant I may be
Superfluous were the sun
Superiority to fate
Surgeons must be very careful
Sweet hours have perished here
Sweet is the swamp with its secrets

Taken from men this morning
Talk with prudence to a beggar
T is an honorable thought
T is little I could care for pearls
T is so much joy!
T is sunrise, little maid, hast thou
T is whiter than an Indian pipe
That I did always love
That is solemn we have ended
That Love is all there is
That she forgot me was the least
That short, potential stir
That such have died enables us
The bat is dun with wrinkled wings
The bee is not afraid of me
The Bible is an antique volume
The blunder is to estimate
The body grows outside
The bone that has no marrow
The brain is wider than the sky
The brain within its groove
The bustle in a house
The butterfly’s assumption-gown
The butterfly obtains
The clouds their backs together laid
The cricket sang
The daisy follows soft the sun
The day came slow, till five o’clock
The Devil, had he fidelity
The difference between despair
The distance that the dead have gone
The Duties of the Wind are few
The dying need but little, dear
The Face we choose to miss
The farthest thunder that I heard
The feet of people walking home
The Future never spoke
The gentian weaves her fringes
The gleam of an heroic act
The grass so little has to do
The grave my little cottage is
The healed Heart shows its shallow scar
The heart asks pleasure first
The Hills erect their purple heads
The incidents of Love
The inundation of the Spring
Their height in heaven comforts not
The largest fire ever known
The last night that she lived
The leaves, like women, interchange
The long sigh of the Frog
The Look of Thee, what is it like?
The luxury to apprehend
The missing All prevented me
The Moon upon her fluent route
The moon is distant from the sea
The moon was but a chin of gold
The morns are meeker than they were
The mountain sat upon the plain
The murmur of a bee
The murmuring of bees has ceased
The mushroom is the elf of plants
The nearest dream recedes, unrealized
The night was wide, and furnished scant
The one that could repeat the summer day
The Ones that disappeared are back
The only ghost I ever saw
The overtakelessness of those
The past is such a curious creature
The pedigree of honey
The props assist the house
The rat is the concisest tenant
There ’s something quieter than sleep
There came a day at summer’s full
There came a wind like a bugle
There is a flower that bees prefer
There is a shame of nobleness
There is a solitude of space
There is a word
There is another Loneliness
There is no frigate like a book
There’s a certain slant of light
There’s been a death in the opposite house
The reticent volcano keeps
The right to perish might be thought
The robin is the one
The rose did caper on her cheek
These are the days that Reindeer love
These are the days when birds come back
The Sea said ‘Come’ to the Brook
The show is not the show
The skies can’t keep their secret!
The sky is low, the clouds are mean
The Soul that has a Guest
The soul selects her own society
The soul should always stand ajar
The Soul’s superior instants
The soul unto itself
The spider as an artist
The springtime’s pallid landscape
The Stars are old, that stood for me
The stimulus, beyond the grave
The suburbs of a secret
The sun just touched the morning
The sun kept setting, setting still
The sweets of Pillage can be known
The thought beneath so slight a film
The treason of an accent
The way I read a letter’s this
The wind begun to rock the grass
The wind tapped like a tired man
The Winds drew off
They won’t frown always—some sweet day
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars
They say that ‘time assuages
This is my letter to the world
This is the land the sunset washes
This merit hath the worst
This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies
This was in the white of the year
This world is not conclusion
Those final Creatures,—who they are
Though I get home how late, how late!
Three weeks passed since I had seen her
Through lane it lay, through bramble
Through the straight pass of suffering
Tie the strings to my life, my Lord
Title divine is mine
To be alive is power
To-day or this noon
To fight aloud is very brave
To hang our head ostensibly
To hear an oriole sing
To help our bleaker parts
To know just how he suffered would be dear
To learn the transport by the pain
To lose one’s faith surpasses
To lose thee, sweeter than to gain
To love thee, year by year
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee
To my quick ear the leaves conferred
Too cold is this
To pile like Thunder to its close
To see her is a picture
To tell the beauty would decrease
To the staunch Dust we safe commit thee
To this apartment deep
To venerate the simple days
T was a long parting, but the time
T was comfort in her dying room
T was just this time last year I died
T was later when the summer went
T was such a little, little boat
Two butterflies went out at noon
Two lengths has every day
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar

Undue significance a starving man attaches
Unto my books so good to turn
Upon the gallows hung a wretch

Victory comes late
Volcanoes be in Sicily

Wait till the majesty of Death
Water is taught by thirst
We cover thee, sweet face
We learn in the retreating
We like March, his shoes are purple
We never know how high we are
We never know we go,—when we are going
Went up a year this evening!
We outgrow love like other things
We play at paste
We should not mind so small a flower
We spy the Forests and the Hills
We thirst at first,—’t is Nature’s act
What if I say I shall not wait?
What inn is this
What mystery pervades a well!
What soft, cherubic creatures
When Etna basks and purrs
When I hoped I feared
When I was small, a woman died
When night is almost done
When roses cease to bloom, dear
Where every bird is bold to go
Where ships of purple gently toss
Whether my bark went down at sea
While I was fearing it, it came
Who has not found the heaven below
Who is it seeks my pillow nights?
Who never wanted,—maddest joy
Who never lost, are unprepared
Who robbed the woods
Whose are the little beds,’ I asked
Who were ‘the Father and the Son
Wild nights! Wild nights!
Will there really be a morning?
Witchcraft has not a pedigree
Within my reach!

You cannot put a fire out
You left me, sweet, two legacies
Your riches taught me poverty
You ’ve seen balloons set, haven’t you?

CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

 
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