"If I Should Die,"

If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as bustling go, --
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
'T is sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trades as briskly fly.
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

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 Her work, largely unpublished and unknown during her lifetime, has since positioned her among the greatest American poets.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

The Lovers.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

My Nosegays Are For Captives

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

The Dying Need But Little, Dear,

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

What Soft, Cherubic Creatures

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, Simple Poetry

English

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If I May Have It When It's Dead

If I may have it when it's dead
I will contented be;
If just as soon as breath is out
It shall belong to me,

Until they lock it in the grave,
'T is bliss I cannot weigh,
For though they lock thee in the grave,
Myself can hold the key.

Think of it, lover! I and thee
Permitted face to face to be;
After a life, a death we'll say, --
For death was that, and this is thee.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

If I Should'nt Be Alive

If I should n't Be Alive
When the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
A memorial crumb.

If I could n't thank you,
Being just asleep,
You will know I'm trying
With my granite lip!

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

If I Should Die. - Rondeau.

        If I should die, how kind you all would grow!
        In that strange hour I would not have one foe.
    There are no words too beautiful to say
    Of one who goes forevermore away
        Across that ebbing tide which has no flow.

        With what new lustre my good deeds would glow!
        If faults were mine, no one would call them so,
    Or speak of me in aught but praise that day,
    If I should die.

        Ah, friends! before my listening ear lies low,
        While I can hear and understand, bestow
    That gentle treatment and fond love, I pray,
    The lustre of whose late though radiant way
        Would gild my grave with mocking light, I know,
    If I should die.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Till The End.

I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because -- because if he should die
While I was gone, and I -- too late --
Should reach the heart that wanted me;

If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so, to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They "noticed" me -- they noticed me;

If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I 'd come -- so sure I 'd come,
It listening, listening, went to sleep
Telling my tardy name, --

My heart would wish it broke before,
Since breaking then, since breaking then,
Were useless as next morning's sun,
Where midnight frosts had lain!

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Dying.

The sun kept setting, setting still;
No hue of afternoon
Upon the village I perceived, --
From house to house 't was noon.

The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face.

My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?

How well I knew the light before!
I could not see it now.
'T is dying, I am doing; but
I'm not afraid to know.

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Retrospect.

'T was just this time last year I died.
I know I heard the corn,
When I was carried by the farms, --
It had the tassels on.

I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill;
And then I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how red apples wedged
The stubble's joints between;
And carts went stooping round the fields
To take the pumpkins in.

I wondered which would miss me least,
And when Thanksgiving came,
If father'd multiply the plates
To make an even sum.

And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?

But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be
When just this time, some pe...

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson