A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!
42
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!
Your prayers, oh Passer by!
From such a common ball as this
Might date a Victory!
From marshallings as simple
The flags of nations swang.
Steady—my soul: What issues
Upon thine arrow hang!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Related quotes
Swang
Swang
Grab your partner
Swang her round
Swang that girl all upside-down
And if that girl wont
Swang with me
Ill swang me another girl, yes sirree
Swang me a girl
Who thinks shes cool
Swang her til her face turns blue
And if that girl cant
Swang with me
Ill swang me another girl, yes sirree
Swang
Real city dancing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Swang
Real city dancing
Yeah
Now turn that girl all upside down and
Swang, swang, swang, do it
Swang, swang, swang, yeah
Swang, swang, swang, do it
Swang, swang, swang
Swang me a girl
Who thinks shes down
Swang her face across the ground
And if that girl cant
Swang with me
Ill swang me another girl, yes sirree
Swang me a girl
With brown eyes deep
Swang her til she starts to weep
And if that girl cant
Swang with me
Ill swang me another girl, yes sirree
Swang
Real city dancing
Yeah, yeah, yeah
And Ive got to do that
Swang
Real city dancing
Yeah
Now turn that girl all upside down and
Swang, swang, swang, do it
Swang, swang, swang, yeah
Swang, swang, swang, do it
Swang, swang, swang
Come on, people
Swang, swang, swang
Well Ill be dancing
Across the floor
cause I like to
Swang, swang, swang, yeah
And, yes, she digs me
She wants some more, so ill
Swang, swang, swang, do it
Swang, swang, swang, ooh
Swang, swang, swang, yeah
Swang, swang, swang
Swang
Swang
Come on and swang
Everybody grab a girl and lets do it
Swang
Hey
Hey you
Swang
Lets do it
You can do it
Swang
Well Ill be dancing
Across the floor
cause I like to
Swang
Do you like it
Yeah
Lets do it
And then theyll come up
And ask for more, so ill
Swang
Come on, people
You can do it
Everybody
Swang
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I cross till I am weary
550
I cross till I am weary
A Mountain—in my mind—
More Mountains—then a Sea—
More Seas—And then
A Desert—find—
And My Horizon blocks
With steady—drifting—Grains
Of unconjectured quantity—
As Asiatic Rains—
Nor this—defeat my Pace—
It hinder from the West
But as an Enemy's Salute
One hurrying to Rest—
What merit had the Goal—
Except there intervene
Faint Doubt—and far Competitor—
To jeopardize the Gain?
At last—the Grace in sight—
I shout unto my feet—
I offer them the Whole of Heaven
The instant that we meet—
They strive—and yet delay—
They perish—Do we die—
Or is this Death's Experiment—
Reversed—in Victory?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The World—feels Dusty
715
The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—
Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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No Rack can torture me
384
No Rack can torture me—
My Soul—at Liberty—
Behind this mortal Bone
There knits a bolder One—
You cannot prick with saw—
Nor pierce with Scimitar—
Two Bodies—therefore be—
Bind One—The Other fly—
The Eagle of his Nest
No easier divest—
And gain the Sky
Than mayest Thou—
Except Thyself may be
Thine Enemy—
Captivity is Consciousness—
So's Liberty.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Solemn thing within the Soul
483
A Solemn thing within the Soul
To feel itself get ripe—
And golden hang—while farther up—
The Maker's Ladders stop—
And in the Orchard far below—
You hear a Being—drop—
A Wonderful—to feel the Sun
Still toiling at the Cheek
You thought was finished—
Cool of eye, and critical of Work—
He shifts the stem—a little—
To give your Core—a look—
But solemnest—to know
Your chance in Harvest moves
A little nearer—Every Sun
The Single—to some lives.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The World—stands—solemner—to me
493
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!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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If your Nerve, deny you
292
If your Nerve, deny you—
Go above your Nerve—
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve—
That's a steady posture—
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms—
Best Giant made—
If your Soul seesaw—
Lift the Flesh door—
The Poltroon wants Oxygen—
Nothing more—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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It is easy to work when the soul is at play
244
It is easy to work when the soul is at play—
But when the soul is in pain—
The hearing him put his playthings up
Makes work difficult—then—
It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind—
But Gimlets—among the nerve—
Mangle daintier—terribler—
Like a Panter in the Glove—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Like eyes that looked on Wastes
458
Like eyes that looked on Wastes—
Incredulous of Ought
But Blank—and steady Wilderness—
Diversified by Night—
Just Infinites of Nought—
As far as it could see—
So looked the face I looked upon—
So looked itself—on Me—
I offered it no Help—
Because the Cause was Mine—
The Misery a Compact
As hopeless—as divine—
Neither—would be absolved—
Neither would be a Queen
Without the Other—Therefore—
We perish—tho' We reign—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Day undressed—Herself
716
The Day undressed—Herself—
Her Garter—was of Gold—
Her Petticoat—of Purple plain—
Her Dimities—as old
Exactly—as the World—
And yet the newest Star—
Enrolled upon the Hemisphere
Be wrinkled—much as Her—
Too near to God—to pray—
Too near to Heaven—to fear—
The Lady of the Occident
Retired without a care—
Her Candle so expire
The flickering be seen
On Ball of Mast in Bosporus—
And Dome—and Window Pane—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Victory comes late
690
Victory comes late—
And is held low to freezing lips—
Too rapt with frost
To take it—
How sweet it would have tasted—
Just a Drop—
Was God so economical?
His Table's spread too high for Us—
Unless We dine on tiptoe—
Crumbs—fit such little mouths—
Cherries—suit Robbins—
The Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles—Them—
God keep His Oath to Sparrows—
Who of little Love—know how to starve—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I can wade Grief
252
I can wade Grief—
Whole Pools of it—
I'm used to that—
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet—
And I tip—drunken—
Let no Pebble—smile—
'Twas the New Liquor—
That was all!
Power is only Pain—
Stranded, thro' Discipline,
Till Weights—will hang—
Give Balm—to Giants—
And they'll wilt, like Men—
Give Himmaleh—
They'll Carry—Him!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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If any sink, assure that this, now standing
358
If any sink, assure that this, now standing—
Failed like Themselves—and conscious that it rose—
Grew by the Fact, and not the Understanding
How Weakness passed—or Force—arose—
Tell that the Worst, is easy in a Moment—
Dread, but the Whizzing, before the Ball—
When the Ball enters, enters Silence—
Dying—annuls the power to kill.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I should have been too glad, I see
313
I should have been too glad, I see—
Too lifted—for the scant degree
Of Life's penurious Round—
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference—have blamed—
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved—I see—
Too rescued—Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect—yesterday—
That Scalding One—Sabachthani—
Recited fluent—here—
Earth would have been too much—I see—
And Heaven—not enough for me—
I should have had the Joy
Without the Fear—to justify—
The Palm—without the Calvary—
So Savior—Crucify—
Defeat—whets Victory—they say—
The Reefs—in old Gethsemane—
Endear the Coast—beyond!
'Tis Beggars—Banquets—can define—
'Tis Parching—vitalizes Wine—
"Faith" bleats—to understand!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Inconceivably solemn!
582
Inconceivably solemn!
Things go gay
Pierce—by the very Press
Of Imagery—
Their far Parades—order on the eye
With a mute Pomp—
A pleading Pageantry—
Flags, are a brave sight—
But no true Eye
Ever went by One—
Steadily—
Music's triumphant—
But the fine Ear
Winces with delight
Are Drums too near—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The lonesome for they know not What
262
The lonesome for they know not What—
The Eastern Exiles—be—
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday—
And ever since—the purple Moat
They strive to climb—in vain—
As Birds—that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain—
The Blessed Ether—taught them—
Some Transatlantic Morn—
When Heaven—was too common—to miss—
Too sure—to dote upon!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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We do not play on Graves
467
We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn't Room—
Besides—it isn't even—it slants
And People come—
And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We're fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—
And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I think just how my shape will rise
237
I think just how my shape will rise—
When I shall be "forgiven"—
Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head—
Are out of sight—in Heaven—
I think just how my lips will weigh—
With shapeless—quivering—prayer—
That you—so late—"Consider" me—
The "Sparrow" of your Care—
I mind me that of Anguish—sent—
Some drifts were moved away—
Before my simple bosom—broke—
And why not this—if they?
And so I con that thing—"forgiven"—
Until& mdash;delirious—borne—
By my long bright—and longer—trust—
I drop my Heart—unshriven!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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One Life of so much Consequence!
270
One Life of so much Consequence!
Yet I—for it—would pay—
My Soul's entire income—
In ceaseless—salary—
One Pearl—to me—so signal—
That I would instant dive—
Although—I knew—to take it—
Would cost me—just a life!
The Sea is full—I know it!
That—does not blur my Gem!
It burns—distinct from all the row—
Intact—in Diadem!
The life is thick—I know it!
Yet—not so dense a crowd—
But Monarchs—are perceptible—
Far down the dustiest Road!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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An ignorance a Sunset
552
An ignorance a Sunset
Confer upon the Eye—
Of Territory—Color—
Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
Its Amber Revelation
Exhilirate—Debase—
O mnipotence' inspection
Of Our inferior face—
And when the solemn features
Confirm—in Victory—
We start—as if detected
In Immortality—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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