The World— stands— solemner— to me—
Since I was wed— to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's— name—
A doubt— if it be fair— indeed—
To wear that perfect— pearl—
The Man— upon the Woman— binds—
To clasp her soul— for all—
A prayer, that it more angel— prove—
A whiter Gift— within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned— a Queen—
A Gratitude— that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful— for Shape to prove—
Or posture— to redeem!

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POEM 655 (circa 1862)

Without this— there is nought—
All other Riches be
As is the Twitter of a Bird—
Heard opposite the Sea—

I could not care— to gain
A lesser than the Whole—
For did not this include themself—
As Seams— include the Ball?

I wished a way might be
My Heart to subdivide—
'Twould magnify— the Gratitude—
And not reduce— the Gold—

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POEM 728 (circa 1863)

Let Us play Yesterday—
I— the Girl at school—
You— and Eternity— the—
Untold Tale—

'Twas my last gratitude
When I slept— at night—
'Twas the first Miracle
Let in— with Light—

God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—

(stanzas 1, 6, 9)

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POEM 760 (circa 1863)

Most she touched me by her muteness—
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure—
Plea itself— for Charity—

Were a Crumb my whole possession—
Were there famine in the land—
Were it my resource from starving—
Could I such a plea withstand—

Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky—
But the Crumb partook— departed—
And returned On High—

I supposed— when sudden
Such a Praise began
'Twas as Space sat singing
To herself— and men—

'Twas the Winged Beggar—
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude

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POEM 989 (circa 1865)

Gratitude— is not the mention
Of a Tenderness,
But it's still appreciation
Out of Plumb of Speech.

When the Sea return no Answer
By the Line and Lead
Prove it there's no Sea, or rather
A remoter Bed?

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POEM 1617 (January 1884)

To try to speak, and miss the way
And ask it of the Tears,
Is Gratitude's sweet poverty
The Tatters that he wears—

A better Coat if he possessed
Would help him to conceal,
Not subjugate, the Mutineer
Whose title is "the Soul."

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
(Edited by Thomas H. Johnson),
Little Brown, Boston, 1955