Keep.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.

Emily Dickinson

Much.

In this short Life that only lasts an hour

How much - how little - is within our power

Emily Dickinson

Distant.

Copley, The Death of Major Peirson, 1781

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne'er succeed.

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

Emily Dickinson

Happy Birthday, Dickinson

Bruce Dickinson was born on this day in 1958.

"Can I Play with Madness" 

Give me the sense to wonder

To wonder if I'm free

Give me a sense of wonder

To know I can be me

Give me the strength to hold my head up

Spit back in their face

Don't need no key to unlock this door

Gonna break down the walls, break out of this bad place ...

Hear.

Pyle, Battle of Bunker Hill, 1897

An ELEGIAC POEM, COMPOSED on the NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN TERRIBLE and BLOODY BATTLE FOUGHT at an ENTRENCHMENT on BUNKER HILL

Adieu to wanton songs and foolish joys,

    To idle tales that fill the ear,

A mournful theme my heart employs,

    And hope the living will it hear.

A horrid fight there hap'd of late,

    'Twas on June seventeen,

When a great number met their fate

    In fighting on the green.

Yes, hundreds of poor souls are dead,

    In battle they were slain,

Both sides met with a heavy stroke,

    T' rehearse it gives me pain.

What shall we say when 'tis decreed,

    By fate it must be so?

To cause our dearest brethren's blood

    From ev'ry vein to flow,

Unless kind mercy interfere,

    Its gracious aid to lend;

O! may each Christian earnest pray

    There soon may be an end.

A fort was late erected at

    A place call'd BUNKER-HILL,

Where thousands of fierce Regulars

    Our people fought to kill.

But Scripture surely teaches us,

    As we at large may read,

That whoso takes the sword to kill

    By the same sword shall bleed.

Large cannon balls by hundreds flew,

    From ships and batt'ries plac'd

But our intrenchments and our lines

    These brave Calumbans grac'd.

The fight was fierce, the carnage great,

    When friends and foes by hundreds fell,

Alass! O dreadful to relate

    What on that day befell.

Whole ranks of Regulars were slain,

    Fresh troops their place supply'd,

In trying our strong lines to gain,

    But soon! ah! soon they dy'd.

A hostile bloody 'trench it was,

    The Regulars all say,

Tho' they exultingly rejoice

    That they have won the day.

A dear-bought victory they gain'd,

    If it is called so,

When most the flower of British troops

    Met with their overthrow.

Small was our loss compar'd with those

    Who now the lines possess;

Great was the slaughter of our foes,

    And poor was their success.

[Some?] say their loss of maim'd and slain

    Is fifteen hundred men;

Tis thought they never'll more attempt

    Our lines to force again.

We sore lament both one and all,

    In sackcloth let us mourn,

Brave General WARREN's hapless fate

    And weep upon his urn.

My trembling hand, my aking heart,

    O! how it throbs this day!

His loss is felt in ev'ry part

    Of vast America.

Ah! twice he wept the cruel fate

    Of murder'd brethren's blood!

Was spilt, as story doth relate,

    By a fierce, tyrant brood.

Twice did our HERO have applause

    From multitudes, who shouted loud,

When he maintain'd fair Freedon's cause,

    What plaudits had he from the crowd.

The list'ning world attention gave

    To ev'ry sound and word;

What spake this CÆSAR of the age,

    Much pleasure did afford.

His pensive brow, his honest heart,

    Such truths it did unfold,

When taking fair Calumba's part

    He sought not filthy gold.

His only study was the good

    Of country and of court;

He made his practice and delight,

    To Heaven for aid [resort?] .

The names of Gardner, Parker, Moors and West

    Let's mourn now o'er their grave,

Who late with courage did their best,

    And twice repuls'd the brave.

We feel and sympathize for them

    Who late in battle fell,

We mean those NINETY hardy men,

    Their names to ages tell

But O! poor Charlestown's dismal fate,

    Let floods of tears now [flow?] ,

A shocking scene thus to relate,

    Its fatal overthrow.

If that the LORD is on our side

    We need not fear our foe,

And if that gracious Isr'el's GOD

    Now with our armies go;

Our heads he'll cover when in sight,

    From harm he will us keep,

If that we seek his face aright,

    Nor let our feet to slip.

With conq'ring might he will us shield,

    And foes will all destroy,

He'll help us thus to win the field,

    And slay those that annoy

Let's seek the LORD by ways aright,

    Now while he may be found;

And not forsake the path that's right,

    Nor yet the gospel sound ;

Then smiling trade with her fair train

    Of blessings will cause;

And Old-England glad to live

    In concord with the New.

Thus may the Patriot and the Sage

    Live in much unity,

O! What a joyful sight it is

    For brethren to agree.

If we believe that sacred writ,

    'Tis like to precious oyl;

For why should we thus disagree,

    And live in endless broil.

For reformation let us strive,

    Let's one and all now join,

To serve the LORD with one accord,

    With good Joshua combine:

Who thus determin'd with his house

    The LORD's favor to seek,

And doubtless did a blessing find,

    As he will bless the meek.

He'll be with them that call on Him

    By ways and means aright,

And he'll not leave nor yet forsake

    The heart that is contrite.

New-England sees a dismal day

    Of darkness and distress!

May we not fear, alas! I say,

    It's for our wickedness?

Our sins more aggravated are

    Than Sodom or of Lot,

Then may we not expect to find

    That death is in the pot?

For sins reward it surely is,

    Think of it as we may,

If we forget to call on GOD,

    And seek him in his way.

His way is perfect and it leads

    To purest rest and peace,

His righteous paths will guide us straight

    To realms of endless bliss.

This day in sackcloth let us mourn,

    Each one in ashes lay,

And from our sins by fasting turn,

    And seek CHRIST while we may.

A blessing we may then expect

    On trade and politics,

If that we harden not our hearts,

    Nor crooked bend our necks.

John Dickinson

Happy Birthday, Dickinson

1587

He ate and drank the precious Words—

His Spirit grew robust—

He knew no more that he was poor,

Nor that his frame was Dust—

He danced along the dingy Days

And this Bequest of Wings

Was but a Book—What Liberty

A loosened spirit brings—

Emily Dickinson, born on this day in 1830

Mighty.

Differ.

The Brain—is wider than the Sky—

For—put them side by side—

The one the other will contain

With ease—and you—beside—

The Brain is deeper than the sea—

For—hold them—Blue to Blue—

The one the other will absorb—

As sponges—Buckets—do—

The Brain is just the weight of God—

For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—

And they will differ—if they do—

As Syllable from Sound—

Emily Dickinson

Gather.

I dwell in Possibility 

I dwell in Possibility –

A fairer House than Prose –

More numerous of Windows –

Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –

Impregnable of eye –

And for an everlasting Roof

The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –

For Occupation – This –

The spreading wide my narrow Hands

To gather Paradise –

Emily Dickinson

Happy Birthday, Harris

Steve Harris was born on this day in 1956.

Sing along to "Sanctuary" ...

When.

There’s a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons–

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes–

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us–

We can find no scar,

But internal difference,

Where the meanings are–

None may teach it–Any–

‘Tis the Seal Despair–

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air–

When it comes, the Landscape listens–

Shadows–hold their breath–

When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance

On the look of Death–

Emily Dickinson

Take.

The OUTLET

My river runs to thee:  

Blue sea, wilt welcome me?  

   

My river waits reply.  

Oh sea, look graciously!  

   

I'll fetch thee brooks

From spotted nooks,—  

   

Say, sea,  

Take me!

Emily Dickinson

Reeling.

I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door –
When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!

Emily Dickinson

Solemnizes.

A something in a summer’s Day

As slow her flambeaux burn away

Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer’s noon —

A depth — an Azure — a perfume —

Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer’s night

A something so transporting bright

I clap my hands to see —

Then veil my too inspecting face

Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace

Flutter too far for me —

The wizard fingers never rest —

The purple brook within the breast

Still chafes it narrow bed —

Still rears the East her amber Flag —

Guides still the sun along the Crag

His Caravan of Red —

So looking on — the night — the morn

Conclude the wonder gay —

And I meet, coming thro’ the dews

Another summer’s Day!

Emily Dickinson

Reward.

To wait an Hour – is long –
If Love be just beyond –
To wait Eternity – is short –
If Love reward the end –

Emily Dickinson

Tippler.

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!

Emily Dickinson

Beseech.

A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy

Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose –

The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot

Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a "bit of noise"
Beseech each little Boy 

Emily Dickinson

Harbor.

An Hour is a Sea
Between a few, and me–
With them would Harbor be–

Emily Dickinson

Happy birthday, Dickinson.

Emily Dickinson was born on this day in 1830.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.

Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.

Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one’s own self encounter
In lonesome place.

Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror’s least.

The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O’erlooking a superior spectre
More near.

Emily Dickinson

Thank you, Rachel.

Possibility.

I dwell in Possibility --
A fairer House than Prose --
More numerous of Windows --
Superior -- for Doors --

Of Chambers as the Cedars --
Impregnable of eye --
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky --

Of Visitors -- the fairest --
For Occupation -- This --
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise --

Emily Dickinson