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  1. List of Emily Dickinson poems
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List of Emily Dickinson poems

Refresh and try again. Dorothy Diemer Hendry Goodreads Author ,. Wickliffe B Hendry With. Dorothy Diemer rated a book it was amazing. Apr 30, Search for a book to add a reference. This collection of some of her best poetry shows the range of her interests and the depth of expression and thought that make her one of the most talented poets of her generation. She writes of love, of faith, of nature, of death-even her own. Through all the joy and sorrow of a life well lived, she found not only great depths of compassion and thankfulness for being, but also penetrating insight into the foibles and missteps that plague our nation and world.

The poet's voice, Dorothy's voice, speaks in incisive and clear language, and is beautiful to hear and read. From the very early poem "Burnished Pebbles" to her last written offering, a Thanksgiving prayer, she will open the mind and heart of even the most jaded reader. This first volume of her poetry is rich with humor, contemplation, wonder, as well as questioning and righteous anger.

Her poetry is like its author: Read more Read less. Here's how restrictions apply. About the Author Dorothy Diemer Hendry? May 24, Language: Start reading Burnished Pebbles: Poems of Love, Death, and Life on your Kindle in under a minute. Don't have a Kindle? Try the Kindle edition and experience these great reading features: Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. Ideals are the Fairly Oil. If all the griefs I am to have. If any sink, assure that this, now standing. If anybody's friend be dead. If Blame be my side — forfeit Me. If ever the lid gets off my head.


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If He dissolve — then. If He were living — dare I ask. If I can stop one Heart from breaking. If I could bribe them by a Rose. If I could tell how glad I was. If I may have it, when it's dead. If I should cease to bring a Rose. If I should die. If I shouldn't be alive. If I'm lost — now. If it had no pencil.

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If my Bark sink. If Nature smiles — the Mother must. If pain for peace prepares. If recollecting were forgetting. If she had been the Mistletoe. If the foolish, call them flowers. If this is fading. If those I loved were lost. If What we could — were what we would. If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought. If you were coming in the Fall. If your Nerve, deny you. Image of Light, Adieu. Immortal is an ample word. In Ebon Box, when years have flown. In falling Timbers buried.

In lands I never saw — they say. In many and reportless places. In rags mysterious as these. In snow thou comest. In this short Life. In thy long Paradise of Light. In Winter in my Room. Is Bliss then, such Abyss. Is Heaven a Physician? Is Immortality a bane. Is it dead — Find it. Is it too late to touch you, Dear?

Is it true, dear Sue? It always felt to me — a wrong. It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon. It came at last but prompter Death. It came his turn to beg. It can't be Summer! It ceased to hurt me, though so slow. It did not surprise me. It don't sound so terrible — quite — as it did. It dropped so low — in my Regard.

Natalie Merchant sings old poems to life

It feels a shame to be Alive. It is a lonesome Glee. It is an honorable Thought. It is easy to work when the soul is at play. It knew no lapse, nor Diminution. It knew no Medicine. It makes no difference abroad. It might be lonelier. It rises — passes — on our South. It sifts from Leaden Sieves. It sounded as if the Streets were running. It stole along so stealthy. It struck me — every Day. It tossed — and tossed.

It troubled me as once I was. It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone. It was a quiet seeming Day. It was a quiet way. It was given to me by the Gods. It was not Death, for I stood up. It was not Saint — it was too large. It was too late for Man. It will be Summer — eventually. It would have starved a Gnat. It would never be Common — more — I said. It would not know if it were spurned. It's all I have to bring today. It's coming — the postponeless Creature.

It's easy to invent a Life. It's like the Light. It's such a little thing to weep. It's thoughts — and just One Heart. Its Hour with itself. Its little Ether Hood. Joy to have merited the Pain. Just as He spoke it from his Hands. Just lost, when I was saved! Just so — Jesus — raps. Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you.

Knows how to forget! Lad of Athens, faithful be. Lain in Nature — so suffice us. Lay this Laurel on the One. Least Bee that brew. Least Rivers — docile to some sea. Left in immortal Youth. Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today. Lest they should come — is all my fear. Lest this be Heaven indeed. Let down the Bars, Oh Death. Let me not mar that perfect Dream. Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip. Let my first Knowing be of thee. Let Us play Yesterday. Lethe in my flower. Life — is what we make of it. Life, and Death, and Giants.

Lift it — with the Feathers. Light is sufficient to itself. Lightly stepped a yellow star. Like Brooms of Steel. Like eyes that looked on Wastes. Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews. Like her the Saints retire. Like Men and Women Shadows walk. Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red. Like Rain it sounded till it curved. Like Some Old fashioned Miracle. Like Time's insidious wrinkle. Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush. Lives he in any other world.

Long Years apart — can make no. Longing is like the Seed. Look back on Time, with kindly eyes. Love — is anterior to Life. Love — is that later Thing than Death. Love — thou art high. Love can do all but raise the Dead. Love is done when Love's begun. Love reckons by itself — alone. Low at my problem bending. Luck is not chance. Make me a picture of the sun. Mama never forgets her birds. Many a phrase has the English language. Many cross the Rhine. March is the Month of Expectation. Me from Myself — to banish.

Me prove it now — Whoever doubt. Midsummer, was it, when They died. Mine — by the Right of the White Election! Mine Enemy is growing old. More Life — went out — when He went. More than the Grave is closed to me. Morning — is the place for Dew. Morning — means Milking — to the Farmer. Morning is due to all. Morning that comes but once.

Morns like these — we parted. Most she touched me by her muteness.

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Much Madness is divinest Sense. Must be a Woe. My best Acquaintances are those. My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease. My country need not change her gown. My Eye is fuller than my vase. My Faith is larger than the Hills. My first well Day — since many ill. My friend attacks my friend! My friend must be a Bird. My Garden — like the Beach. My God — He sees thee. My Heart ran so to thee. My Heart upon a little Plate. My life closed twice before its close. My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun.

My Maker — let me be. My nosegays are for Captives. My period had come for Prayer. My Portion is Defeat — today. My Reward for Being, was This. My River runs to thee. My Season's furthest Flower. My Soul — accused me — And I quailed. My Triumph lasted till the Drums. My Wars are laid away in Books. My wheel is in the dark! My Worthiness is all my Doubt. Myself can read the Telegrams.

Myself was formed — a Carpenter. Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling. Nature — the Gentlest Mother is. Nature affects to be sedate. Nature and God — I neither knew. Nature assigns the Sun. Nature can do no more. Nature is what we see. Nature rarer uses Yellow.

New feet within my garden go. No Autumn's intercepting Chill. No Bobolink — reverse His Singing. No Brigadier throughout the Year. No Crowd that has occurred. No ladder needs the bird but skies. No Life can pompless pass away. No Man can compass a Despair. No man saw awe, nor to his house. No matter — now — Sweet. No matter where the Saints abide. No Notice gave She, but a Change. No Other can reduce. No Passenger was known to flee. No Rack can torture me. No Romance sold unto. Nobody knows this little Rose. None can experience sting. None who saw it ever told it. Noon — is the Hinge of Day.

Nor Mountain hinder Me. Not all die early, dying young. Not any higher stands the Grave. Not any more to be lacked. Not any sunny tone. Not at Home to Callers. Not in this World to see his face. Not knowing when the Dawn will come. Not One by Heaven defrauded stay. Not probable — The barest Chance.

Burnished Pebbles: Poems of Love, Death, and Life: Dorothy Hendry: afijusokuz.cf: Books

Not Revelation — 'tis — that waits. Not seeing, still we know. Not Sickness stains the Brave. Not so the infinite Relations — Below.

Not that he goes — we love him more. Not that We did, shall be the test. Not to discover weakness is. Not with a Club, the Heart is broken. Now I knew I lost her. Now I lay thee down to Sleep. Obtaining but our own Extent. Of all the Souls that stand create. Of all the Sounds despatched abroad.

Of Being is a Bird. Of Bronze — and Blaze. Of Brussels — it was not. Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. Of Course — I prayed. Of Death I try to think like this. Of Glory not a Beam is left. Of God we ask one favor. Of Life to own. Of Nature I shall have enough. Of nearness to her sundered Things. Of Paul and Silas it is said. Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe. Of so divine a Loss. Of the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door.

Of their peculiar light. Of this is Day composed. Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? Of Tribulation, these are They. Of whom so dear. Of Yellow was the outer Sky. Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet. Oh Shadow on the Grass. Oh what a Grace is this. Oh, honey of an hour. On a Columnar Self. On my volcano grows the Grass. On such a night, or such a night. On that dear Frame the Years had worn. On that specific Pillow. On the World you colored. On this long storm the Rainbow rose. On this wondrous sea. Once more, my now bewildered Dove. One and One — are One. One Anguish — in a Crowd. One Blessing had I than the rest.

One crown that no one seeks. One Crucifixion is recorded — only. One Day is there of the Series. One dignity delays for all. One Joy of so much anguish. One Life of so much Consequence! One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted. One of the ones that Midas touched. One Sister have I in our house. One thing of it we borrow. One Year ago — jots what? Only a Shrine, but Mine. Only God — detect the Sorrow. Opinion is a flitting thing. Our journey had advanced.


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Our little Kinsmen — after Rain. Our little secrets slink away. Our lives are Swiss. Our own possessions — though our own. Our share of night to bear. Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision. Ourselves were wed one summer — dear. Over and over, like a Tune. Pain — expands the Time. Pain — has an Element of Blank. Pain has but one Acquaintance. Paradise is of the option. Paradise is that old mansion.

Partake as doth the Bee. Parting with Thee reluctantly. Pass to they Rendezvous of Light. Patience — has a quiet Outer. Peace is a fiction of our Faith. Perception of an object costs. Perhaps I asked too large. Perhaps they do not go so far. Perhaps you think me stooping. Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower. Peril as a Possession. Pigmy seraphs — gone astray. Pink — small — and punctual. Portraits are to daily faces. Power is a familiar growth. Praise it — 'tis dead. Prayer is the little implement. Precious to Me — She still shall be.

Presentiment — is that long Shadow — on the Lawn. Promise This — When You be Dying. Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it ,. Publication — is the Auction. Purple — is fashionable twice. Pursuing you in your transitions. Put up my lute! Quite empty, quite at rest. Read — Sweet — how others — strove. Rearrange a Wife's affection! Recollect the Face of me. Talk not to me. Remember me implored the Thief! Remembrance has a Rear and Front.