
Apology To Delia: For Desiring A Lock Of Her Hair
Delia, the unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth
A ringlet of her hair,
Refused that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.
Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.
Yes! when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decayed,
Their gloss, their colour, lost—
Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all;—
When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck,
That Eden where it grew,
Then shall my Delia's self declare
That I professed the truth,
And have preserved my little share
In everlasting youth.
poem by William Cowper

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Fitter to see Him, I may be
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For the long Hindrance—Grace—to Me—
With Summers, and with Winters, grow,
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He seek Conviction, That—be This—
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But gain—thro' loss—Through Grief—obtain—
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Taking up the fair Ideal
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Taking up the fair Ideal,
Just to cast her down
When a fracture—we discover—
Or a splintered Crown—
Makes the Heavens portable—
And the Gods—a lie—
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Comforts—sear ch—like this—
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Through the strait pass of suffering
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Through the strait pass of suffering—
The Martyrs—even—trod.
Their feet—upon Temptations—
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I think just how my shape will rise
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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—
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In falling Timbers buried
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In falling Timbers buried—
There breathed a Man—
Outside—the spades—were plying—
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Horrid Sand Partition—
Neither—could be heard—
Never slacked the Diggers—
But when Spades had done—
Oh, Reward of Anguish,
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'Tis a Baffling Earth—
But there is no Gratitude
Like the Grace—of Death—
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The Court is far away
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To know just how He suffered—would be dear
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To know just how He suffered—would be dear—
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I cannot dance upon my Toes
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I cannot dance upon my Toes—
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But oftentimes, among my mind,
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One Life of so much Consequence!
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One Life of so much Consequence!
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I cross till I am weary
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I cross till I am weary
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More Mountains—then a Sea—
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An awful Tempest mashed the air
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An awful Tempest mashed the air—
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Tis customary as we part
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It might be lonelier
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Some—Work for Immortality
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He—Compensates—immedia tely—
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Tis Opposites—entice
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'Tis Opposites—entice—
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Tho' the Divinity—
Be only
Me—
poem by Emily Dickinson

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I gained it so
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I gained it so—
By Climbing slow—
By Catching at the Twigs that grow
Between the Bliss—and me—
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As well the Sky
Attempt by Strategy—
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This—was all—
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Lest it fall—
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Unfitted by an instant's Grace
For the Contented—Beggar's face
I wore—an hour ago—
poem by Emily Dickinson

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If anybody's friend be dead
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If anybody's friend be dead
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Past Interview, and Vow—
Past what Ourself can estimate—
That—makes the Quick of Woe!
poem by Emily Dickinson

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If I'm lost—now
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If I'm lost—now
That I was found—
Shall still my transport be—
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Blazed open—suddenly—
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Turns so—away from you—
poem by Emily Dickinson

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