Emily Dickinson

Early Life December 10th, 1830 near Boston, MA Lived in “The Homestead” or “The Mansion” where many famous people visited Very Intelligent Strict Father (served in the House of Rep.) Led to a problem with Male Authority Figures

Adult Life Left college due to bad health (a cough) Led a life of seclusion = simplicity is good Wore white dresses often Liked art, singing, and reading Benjamin Newton, Lawyer, pushed Emily to write poetry Often wrote letters to Reverend Wadsworth Many close friends died early on Died at 55 of Bright’s Disease (Kidney Failure) Cousin Vinnie instructed to burn all old letters, found poems submitted them for publication

Writing High Religious Influence Calvinist : Most humans were not going to Heaven Emily rejected common religious thought In her father’s eyes, she would never be one of the “saved” The New York Times claimed Emily Dickinson would soon be known amongst the immortals of English speaking poets

Because I Could Not Stop For Death Because I could not stop for Death— He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality. We slowly drove—He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility— We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the Ring— We passed the fields of Gazing Grain— We passed the Setting Sun— Or rather—He passed Us— The Dews drew quivering and chill— For only Gossamer, my Gown— My Tippet—only Tulle— We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground— The Roof was scarcely visible— The Cornice—in the Ground— Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity—

I Felt a Funeral in My Brain I Felt A Funeral In My Brain by Emily Dickinson. 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.

I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died by Emily Dickinson. I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry, And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable, and then There interposed a fly, With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see.

I Had No Time To Hate, Because I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me.

Death Sets a Thing Significant Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships In crayon or in wool, With "This was last her fingers did," Industrious until The thimble weighed too heavy, The stitches stopped themselves, And then 't was put among the dust Upon the closet shelves. A book I have, a friend gave, Whose pencil, here and there, Had notched the place that pleased him,-- At rest his fingers are. Now, when I read, I read not, For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs.

‘Tis So Much Joy! ’T is so much joy! ’T is so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so This side the victory! Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath! And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail! And if I gain,—oh, gun at sea, Oh, bells that in the steeples be, At first repeat it slow! For heaven is a different thing Conjectured, and waked sudden in, And might o’erwhelm me so!

I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth, the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.