Ah, Necromancy Sweet!
Ah, Wizard erudite!
Teach me the skill,That I instil the pain
Surgeons assuage in vain,
Nor Herb of all the plain
Can Heal!Emily Dickinson
Only bees know the secret way of brewing sweet honey! Honey is Emily’s favorite sweet.
Ah, sweet magic!
Ah, skillful wizard!
Teach me the skill,That I appease the pain
Which surgeons fail to lessen,
Nor herb of all the plain
Can heal!
I had a daily Bliss
I half indifferent viewed
Till sudden I perceived it stir —
It grew as I pursuedTill when around a Height
It wasted from my sight
Increased beyond my utmost scope
I learned to estimate.Emily Dickinson
In Simplified English
I had a daily Bliss
I enjoyed viewing half indifferent
Till I perceived it stir suddenly—
It grew as I pursuedThough it disappeared from my sight
Around a Height,
It grew increased beyond my utmost scope
I learned to estimate.
“it” is apparently the Sun, that Emily admires.
Through the strait pass of suffering —
The Martyrs — even — trod.
Their feet — upon Temptations —
Their faces — upon God —A stately — shriven — Company —
Convulsion — playing round —
Harmless — as streaks of Meteor —
Upon a Planet’s Bond —Their faith — the everlasting troth —
Their Expectation — fair —
The Needle — to the North Degree —
Wades — so — thro’ polar Air!Emily Dickinson
The poem describes a slowly changing pattern of aurora in the polar zone. The third line of the second stanza “The Needle — to the North Degree” is a critical hint.
The Martyrs trod further
Through the narrow pass
Feeling intolerable pain,
Although their feet are on temptations,
Their faces are on God.A stately shriven company
Goes into convulsion,
They are innocent as beams of meteor
On a Planet’s Bond —Their faith, that is, the everlasting troth
And their expectations are fair.
The Needle pointing to the North Pole
Advances on foot through’ polar Air!
So the Eyes accost ― and sunder
In an Audience ―
Stamped ― occasionally ― forever ―
So may CountenanceEntertain ― without addressing
Countenance of One
In a Neighboring Horizon ―
Gone ― as soon as known ―Emily Dickinson
Emily successfully immortalized the Leonids in 1833 in verse; the most famous meteor shower throughout history. Her compact writing style is appropriate for ephemeral beauty of meteors.
So the meteors greet and separate
In viewers ―
Stamped ―occasionally ― forever ―
So one meteor may entertainWithout greeting another meteor,
That is gone in a neighboring horizon ―
As soon as they got to know each other ―
His Gait — was soundless, like the Bird —
But rapid — like the Roe —
His fashions, quaint, Mosaic —
Or haply, Mistletoe —
His conversation — seldom —
His laughter, like the Breeze —
That dies away in Dimples
Among the pensive Trees —Our interview — was transient —
Of me, himself was shy —
And God forbid I look behind —
Since that appalling Day!Emily Dickinson
The answer is a cast-off skin of snake. Emily composes much poetry of weird things, disgusted by successful poets of romantic school.
The only ghost I ever saw
Was dressed in Mechlin lace,
So he wore no sandal on his foot
And stepped like snowflakes.His moving was silent like the bird
But rapid like the roe deer.
His costume is quaint, mosaic
Or by chance, mistletoe —His conversation was seldom.
His laughter was like the Breeze
That was absorbed in hollows
Among the thoughtful trees.Our interview was brief.
He was shy of me,
And God forbid I review it,
Since that appalling Day!Appalling day is referred to “Paradise Lost”. The snake tempted Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit so that they were expelled from Paradise.
Glowing is her Bonnet
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,
Yet she cannot speak.Better as the Daisy
From the Summer hill
Vanish unrecorded
Save by tearful rill ―Save by loving sunrise
Looking for her face.
Save by feet unnumbered
Pausing at the place.Emily Dickinson
I have no idea other than a dandelion. The naïve flower is her favorite.
Glowing is her bonnet
Glowing is her cheek,
Glowing is her gown,
Yet she cannot speak.Happier than the Daisy
From the summer hill
Vanish unremembered
Save by tearful rill ―Save by loving sunrise
Looking for her face.
Save by unnumbered feet
Resting at the place.
A solemn thing — it was — I said —
A woman — white — to be —
And wear — if God should count me fit —
Her blameless mystery —A hallowed thing — to drop a life
Into the purple well —
Too plummetless — that it return —
Eternity — until —I pondered how the bliss would look —
And would it feel as big —
When I could take it in my hand —
As hovering — seen — through fog —And then — the size of this “small” life —
The Sages — call it small —
Swelled — like Horizons — in my vest —
And I sneered — softly — “small”!Emily Dickinson
At first I inferred a carnivorous plant from “To drop a life into the purple well”. However, I failed to find a carnivorous plant of noble color, e.g. white or purple. I remembered a digitalis aka foxglove, which looked like a carnivorous plant and that poisonous, sometime lethal. The author sneered at sages’ opinion “It is small”. Digitalis is so poisonous and deep that a life in the purple well cannot climb back alive. Digitalis (purple well) return eternity (death).
In simple English
I said it was a solemn thing
To be a white woman
And wear her innocent mystery
If God should regard me fit —It was a sacred thing to drop a life
Into the purple well
Too fathomless that it return
Eternity —Until I pondered how the joy would look
And would it feel as big,
When I could take it in my hand
It was seen as hovering through fog —And then the size of this “small” life.
The Sages call it small
Which was swelled like Horizons in my breast,
And I sneered softly “small”!
So He let me lead him in —
I was weak, and He was strong then —
So I let him lead me — Home.‘Twasn’t far — the door was near —
'Twasn’t dark — for He went — too —
'Twasn’t loud, for He said nought —
That was all I cared to know.Day knocked — and we must part —
Neither — was strongest — now —
He strove — and I strove — too —
We didn’t do it — tho’!Emily Dickinson
The answer is trivial: competition between my shadow and me.
She died — this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.Emily Dickinson
Who is she? The fourth line “And started for the sun” suggests that she is a flower, any of which follows the sun, until he sinks below the horizon. I think the most probable candidate of “She” is a daisy, her favorite flower.
She died — this was the way she died.
When she took her last breath
She picked up her frugal dress (Her leaves were dried up)
And follow the sun until he sank. (This suggests death)
The Angels must have seen,
Her little figure at the gate of heaven (She must have arrived in Paradise)
Since I could never find her
Outside the gate of heaven.
