Father, I Bring Thee Not Myself,

Father, I bring thee not myself, --
That were the little load;
I bring thee the imperial heart
I had not strength to hold.

The heart I cherished in my own
Till mine too heavy grew,
Yet strangest, heavier since it went,
Is it too large for you?

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, born on December 10, 1830, and died on May 15, 1886, was an American poet who is extensively known for her innovative and poignant use of language and form. Her work, largely unpublished and unknown during her lifetime, has since positioned her among the greatest American poets. Although she seldom left her home, her poetry delved deeply into themes of death, immortality, nature, and human consciousness. Dickinson's unique style continues to influence poets and readers today.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

A Murmur In The Trees To Note,

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

"On This Long Storm The Rainbow Rose,"

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms,

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

"Belshazzar Had A Letter,"

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Far From Love The Heavenly Father

Far from love the Heavenly Father
Leads the chosen child;
Oftener through realm of briar
Than the meadow mild,

Oftener by the claw of dragon
Than the hand of friend,
Guides the little one predestined
To the native land.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Afraid? Of Whom Am I Afraid?

Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.

Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.

Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

To Her Father With Some Verses

Most truly honoured, and as truly dear,
If worth in me, or ought I do appear,
Who can of right better demand the same?
Then may your worthy self from whom it came.
The principle might yield a greater sum,
Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crum,
My stock's so small, I know not how to pay,
My Bond remains in force unto this day;
Yet for part payment take this simple mite.
Where nothing's to be had Kings loose their right
Such is my debt, I may not say forgive,
But as I can, I'le pay it while I live:
Such is my bond, none can discharge but I,
Yet paying is not payd until I dye.

Anne Bradstreet

Too Much.

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, Saviour, crucify.

Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
'T is beggars banquets best define;
'T is thirsting vitalizes wine, --
Fai...

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

It's All I Have To Bring To-Day,

It'S All I Have To Bring To-Day,
This, and my heart beside,
This, and my heart, and all the fields,
And all the meadows wide.
Be sure you count, should I forget, --
Some one the sum could tell, --
This, and my heart, and all the bees
Which in the clover dwell.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

To My Father.

I.

Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care,
    Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude
    Late waked for early gifts ill understood;
Claiming in all my harvests rightful share,
Whether with song that mounts the joyful air
    I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood,
    Sit dumb because I know a speechless good,
Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer.
    Thou hast been faithful to my highest need;
And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore,
Shall never feel the grateful burden sore.
    Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed,
    But for the sense thy living self did breed
That fatherhood is at the great world's core.


II.

All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined,
    As for some being of another race;
    A...

George MacDonald