My Life Had Stood a Loaded Gun

by Emily Dickinson

  Essential oils are wrung:

  The attar from the rose

  Is not expressed by suns alone,

  It is the gift of screws.

  The general rose decays;

  But this, in lady’s drawer,

  Makes summer when the lady lies

  In ceaseless rosemary.

  Death is like the insect

  Menacing the tree,

  Competent to kill it,

  But decoyed may be.

  Bait it with the balsam,

  Seek it with the knife,

  Baffle, if it cost you

  Everything in life.

  Then, if it have burrowed

  Out of reach of skill,

  Ring the tree and leave it, —

  ’Tis the vermin’s will.

  Bereaved of all, I went abroad,

  No less bereaved to be

  Upon a new peninsula, —

  The grave preceded me,

  Obtained my lodgings ere myself,

  And when I sought my bed,

  The grave it was, reposed upon

  The pillow for my head.

  I waked, to find it first awake,

  I rose, — it followed me;

  I tried to drop it in the crowd,

  To lose it in the sea,

  In cups of artificial drowse

  To sleep its shape away, —

  The grave was finished, but the spade

  Remained in memory.

  I felt a funeral in my brain,

  And mourners, to and fro,

  Kept treading, treading, till it seemed

  That sense was breaking through.

  And when they all were seated,

  A service like a drum

  Kept beating, beating, till I thought

  My mind was going numb.

  And then I heard them lift a box,

  And creak across my soul

  With those same boots of lead, again,

  Then space began to toll

  As all the heavens were a bell,

  And Being but an ear,

  And I and silence some strange race,

  Wrecked, solitary, here.

  Fame is a fickle food

  Upon a shifting plate,

  Whose table once a Guest, but not

  The second time, is set.

  Whose crumbs the crows inspect,

  And with ironic caw

  Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn;

  Men eat of it and die.

  My Wheel is in the dark, —

  I cannot see a spoke,

  Yet know its dripping feet

  Go round and round.

  My foot is on the tide —

  An unfrequented road,

  Yet have all roads

  A ‘clearing’ at the end.

  Some have resigned the loom,

  Some in the busy tomb

  Find quaint employ,

  Some with new, stately feet

  Pass royal through the gate,

  Flinging the problem back at you and me.

  Summer begins to have the look,

  Peruser of enchanting Book

  Reluctantly, but sure, perceives —

  A gain upon the backward leaves.

  Autumn begins to be inferred

  By millinery of the cloud,

  Or deeper color in the shawl

  That wraps the everlasting hill.

  The eye begins its avarice,

  A meditation chastens speech,

  Some Dyer of a distant tree

  Resumes his gaudy industry.

  Conclusion is the course of all,

  Almost to be perennial,

  And then elude stability

  Recalls to immortality.

  To-day or this noon

  She dwelt so close,

  I almost touched her;

  Tonight she lies

  Past neighborhood —

  And bough and steeple —

  Now past surmise.

  The Bible is an antique volume

  Written by faded men,

  At the suggestion of Holy Spectres —

  Subjects — Bethlehem —

  Eden — the ancient Homestead —

  Satan — the Brigadier,

  Judas — the great Defaulter,

  David — the Troubadour.

  Sin — a distinguished Precipice

  Others must resist,

  Boys that ‘believe’

  Are very lonesome —

  Other boys are ‘lost’.

  Had but the tale a warbling Teller

  All the boys would come —

  Orpheus’ sermon captivated,

  It did not condemn.

  Candor, my tepid Friend,

  Come not to play with me!

  The Myrrhs and Mochas of the Mind

  Are its Iniquity.

  On my volcano grows the grass, —

  A meditative spot,

  An area for a bird to choose

  Would be the general thought.

  How red the fire reeks below,

  How insecure the sod —

  Did I disclose, would populate

  With awe my solitude.

  Color, Caste, Denomination —

  These are Time’s affair,

  Death’s division classifying

  Does not know they are.

  As in sleep — all here forgotten,

  Tenets put behind,

  Death’s large democratic fingers

  Rub away the brand.

  If Circassian — He is careless —

  If He put away

  Chrysalis of Blonde or Umber,

  Equal butterfly

  They emerge from His obscuring;

  What Death knows so well,

  Our minuter intuitions

  Deem incredible.

  Doom is the House Without the Door —

  ’Tis entered from the sun,

  And then the ladder’s thrown away

  Because escape is done.

  ’Tis varied by the dream

  Of what they do outside,

  When squirrels play and berries die —

  And hundreds bow to God.

  I dwell in Possibility,

  A fairer house than Prose,

  More numerous of windows,

  Superior of doors.

  Of chambers, as the cedars —

  Impregnable of eye;

  And for an everlasting roof

  The gables of the sky.

  Of visitors — the fairest —

  For occupation — this —

  The spreading wide my narrow hands

  To gather Paradise.

  To intercept his yellow plan

  The sun does not allow

  Caprices of the atmosphere;

  And even when the snow

  Heaves balls of specks like vicious boy

  Directly in his eye,

  Does not so much as turn his head —

  Busy with majesty!

  ’Tis his to stimulate the earth,

  And magnetize the sea,

  And bind astronomy in place —

  Yet any passer-by

  Would deem Ourselves the busier,

  As the minutest bee

  That rides supports a thunder,

  A bomb to justify!

  (With a flower)

  All the letters I can write

  Are not fair as this,

  Syllables of velvet,

  Sentences of plush,

  Depths of ruby, undrained,

  Hid, lip, for thee —

  Play it were a humming bird

  And just sipped me!

  It’s coming — the postponeless Creature,

  It gains the block and now it gains the door,

  Chooses its latch from all the other fastenings,

  Enters with a — ‘You know me, Sir?’

  Simple salute and certain recognition,

  Bold — were it enemy — brief were it friend,

 
Dresses each house in crêpe and icicle,

  And carries one out of it to God.

  My life had stood a loaded gun

  In corners, till a day

  The owner passed — identified,

  And carried me away.

  And now we roam the sov’reign woods,

  And now we hunt the doe —

  And every time I speak for him

  The mountains straight reply.

  And do I smile, such cordial light

  Upon the valley glow —

  It is as a Vesuvian face

  Had let its pleasure through.

  And when at night, our good day done,

  I guard my master’s head,

  ’Tis better than the eider duck’s

  Deep pillow to have shared.

  To foe of his I’m deadly foe,

  None stir the second time

  On whom I lay a yellow eye

  Or an emphatic thumb.

  Though I than he may longer live,

  He longer must than I,

  For I have but the art to kill —

  Without the power to die.

  Good morning, Midnight!

  I’m coming home,

  Day got tired of me —

  How could I of him?

  Sunshine was a sweet place,

  I liked to stay —

  But Morn didn’t want me — now —

  So good night, Day!

  I can look, can’t I?

  When the East is red?

  The hills have a way, then,

  That puts the heart abroad.

  You are not so fair, Midnight —

  I chose Day,

  But please take a little Girl

  He turned away!

  Longing is like the seed

  That wrestles in the ground,

  Believing if it intercede

  It shall at length be found.

  The hour and the zone

  Each circumstance unknown,

  What constancy must be achieved

  Before it see the sun!

  A toad can die of light!

  Deaths is the common right

  Of toads and men, —

  Of earl and midge

  The privilege.

  Why swagger then?

  The gnat’s supremacy

  Is large as thine.

  BOCCACCIO · Mrs Rosie and the Priest

  GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS · As kingfishers catch fire

  The Saga of Gunnlaug Serpent-tongue

  THOMAS DE QUINCEY · On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts

  FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE · Aphorisms on Love and Hate

  JOHN RUSKIN · Traffic

  PU SONGLING · Wailing Ghosts

  JONATHAN SWIFT · A Modest Proposal

  Three Tang Dynasty Poets

  WALT WHITMAN · On the Beach at Night Alone

  KENKŌ · A Cup of Sake Beneath the Cherry Trees

  BALTASAR GRACIÁN · How to Use Your Enemies

  JOHN KEATS · The Eve of St Agnes

  THOMAS HARDY · Woman much missed

  GUY DE MAUPASSANT · Femme Fatale

  MARCO POLO · Travels in the Land of Serpents and Pearls

  SUETONIUS · Caligula

  APOLLONIUS OF RHODES · Jason and Medea

  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON · Olalla

  KARL MARX AND FRIEDRICH ENGELS · The Communist Manifesto

  PETRONIUS · Trimalchio’s Feast

  JOHANN PETER HEBEL · How a Ghastly Story Was Brought to Light by a Common or Garden Butcher’s Dog

  HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN · The Tinder Box

  RUDYARD KIPLING · The Gate of the Hundred Sorrows

  DANTE · Circles of Hell

  HENRY MAYHEW · Of Street Piemen

  HAFEZ · The nightingales are drunk

  GEOFFREY CHAUCER · The Wife of Bath

  MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE · How We Weep and Laugh at the Same Thing

  THOMAS NASHE · The Terrors of the Night

  EDGAR ALLAN POE · The Tell-Tale Heart

  MARY KINGSLEY · A Hippo Banquet

  JANE AUSTEN · The Beautifull Cassandra

  ANTON CHEKHOV · Gooseberries

  SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE · Well, they are gone, and here must I remain

  JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE · Sketchy, Doubtful, Incomplete Jottings

  CHARLES DICKENS · The Great Winglebury Duel

  HERMAN MELVILLE · The Maldive Shark

  ELIZABETH GASKELL · The Old Nurse’s Story

  NIKOLAY LESKOV · The Steel Flea

  HONORÉ DE BALZAC · The Atheist’s Mass

  CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN · The Yellow Wall-Paper

  C. P. CAVAFY · Remember, Body …

  FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY · The Meek One

  GUSTAVE FLAUBERT · A Simple Heart

  NIKOLAI GOGOL · The Nose

  SAMUEL PEPYS · The Great Fire of London

  EDITH WHARTON · The Reckoning

  HENRY JAMES · The Figure in the Carpet

  WILFRED OWEN · Anthem For Doomed Youth

  WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART · My Dearest Father

  PLATO · Socrates’ Defence

  CHRISTINA ROSSETTI · Goblin Market

  Sindbad the Sailor

  SOPHOCLES · Antigone

  RYŪNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA · The Life of a Stupid Man

  LEO TOLSTOY · How Much Land Does A Man Need?

  GIORGIO VASARI · Leonardo da Vinci

  OSCAR WILDE · Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime

  SHEN FU · The Old Man of the Moon

  AESOP · The Dolphins, the Whales and the Gudgeon

  MATSUO BASHŌ · Lips too Chilled

  EMILY BRONTË · The Night is Darkening Round Me

  JOSEPH CONRAD · To-morrow

  RICHARD HAKLUYT · The Voyage of Sir Francis Drake Around the Whole Globe

  KATE CHOPIN · A Pair of Silk Stockings

  CHARLES DARWIN · It was snowing butterflies

  BROTHERS GRIMM · The Robber Bridegroom

  CATULLUS · I Hate and I Love

  HOMER · Circe and the Cyclops

  D. H. LAWRENCE · Il Duro

  KATHERINE MANSFIELD · Miss Brill

  OVID · The Fall of Icarus

  SAPPHO · Come Close

  IVAN TURGENEV · Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands

  VIRGIL · O Cruel Alexis

  H. G. WELLS · A Slip under the Microscope

  HERODOTUS · The Madness of Cambyses

  Speaking of Siva

  The Dhammapada

  JANE AUSTEN · Lady Susan

  JEAN-JACQUES ROSSEAU · The Body Politic

  JEAN DE LA FONTAINE · The World is Full of Foolish Men

  H. G. WELLS · The Sea Raiders

  LIVY · Hannibal

  CHARLES DICKENS · To Be Read at Dusk

  LEO TOLSTOY · The Death of Ivan Ilyich

  MARK TWAIN · The Stolen White Elephant

  WILLIAM BLAKE · Tyger, Tyger

  SHERIDAN LE FANU · Green Tea

  The Yellow Book

  OLAUDAH EQUIANO · Kidnapped

  EDGAR ALLAN POE · A Modern Detective

  The Suffragettes

  MARGERY KEMPE · How To Be a Medieval Woman

  JOSEPH CONRAD · Typhoon

  GIACOMO CASANOVA · The Nun of Murano

  W. B. YEATS · A terrible beauty is born

  THOMAS HARDY · The Withered Arm

  EDWARD LEAR · Nonsense

  ARISTOPHANES · The Frogs

  FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE · Why I Am so Clever

  RAINER MARIA RILKE · Letters to a Young Poet

  LEONID ANDREYEV · Seven Hanged

  APHRA BEHN · Oroonoko

  LEWIS CARROLL · O frabjous day!

  JOHN GAY · Trivia: or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London

  E. T. A. HOFFMANN · The Sandman

  DANTE · Love that moves the sun and other stars

  ALEXANDER PUSHKIN · The Queen of Spades

  ANTON CHEKHOV · A Nervous Breakdown

 
; KAKUZO OKAKURA · The Book of Tea

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE · Is this a dagger which I see before me?

  EMILY DICKINSON · My life had stood a loaded gun

  LONGUS · Daphnis and Chloe

  MARY SHELLEY · Matilda

  GEORGE ELIOT · The Lifted Veil

  FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY · White Nights

  OSCAR WILDE · Only Dull People Are Brilliant at Breakfast

  VIRGINIA WOOLF · Flush

  ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE · Lot No. 249

  The Rule of Benedict

  WASHINGTON IRVING · Rip Van Winkle

  Anecdotes of the Cynics

  VICTOR HUGO · Waterloo

  CHARLOTTE BRONTË · Stancliffe’s Hotel

  littleblackclassics.com

  THE BEGINNING

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  This selection first published in Penguin Classics 2016

  ISBN: 978-0-241-25142-3