Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of satin, And Roof of stone. Light laughs the breeze In her Castle above them— Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear, Pipe the Sweet Birds in gorant cadence— Ah, what sagacity perished here
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I like to see it lap the Miles (43)
I like to see it lap the Miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains, And, supercilious, peer In shanties by the sides of roads; And then a quarry pare To fit its sides, and crawl between, Complaining all the while In horrid, hooting stanza; Then chase itself down hill And neigh like Boanerges; Then, punctual as a star, Stop—docile and omnipotent— At its own stable door.
Born in 1830 in Massachusetts, Emily Dickinson lived in almost total physical isolation from the outside world and is now considered, along with Walt Whitman, the founder of a uniquely American poetic voice.