A poor torn heart, a tattered heart
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart, / That sat it down to rest,
BLOOM upon the Mountain, stated
❦
BLOOM upon the Mountain, stated,
Blameless of a name.
Efflorescence of a Sunset–
Reproduced, the same.
Seed, had I, my purple sowing
Should endow the Day,
Not a tropic of the twilight
Show itself away.
Who for tilling, to the Mountain
Come, and disappear–
Whose be Her renown, or fading,
Witness, is not here.
While I state–the solemn petals
Far as North and East,
Far as South and West expanding,
Culminate in rest.
And the Mountain to the Evening
Fit His countenance,
Indicating by no muscle
The Experience.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
I HAD A GUINEA GOLDEN - I had a guinea golden
I had a guinea golden; / I lost it in the sand,
THE GRASS - The grass so little has to do
The grass so little has to do, -- / A sphere of simple green,
THE MUSHROOM - The mushroom is the elf of plants
The mushroom is the elf of plants, / At evening it is not;