large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_29
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world! THE BELL WITHIN THE STEEPLE WILD THE FLYING TIDINGS WHIRLED HOW MUCH CAN COME AND MUCH CAN GO AND YET ABIDE THE WORLD
r met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing, And zero at the bone. XXV. THE MUSHROOM. The mushroom is the elf of plants, At evening it is not; At morning in a truffled hut It stops upon a spot As if it tarried always; And yet its whole career Is shorter than a snake's delay, And fleeter than a tare. 'T is vegetation's juggler, The germ of alibi; Doth like a bubble antedate, And like a bubble hie. I feel as if the grass were pleased To have it intermit; The surreptitious scion Of summer's circumspect. Had nature any outcast face, Could she a son contemn, Had nature an Iscariot, That mushroom, -- it is him. XXVI. THE STORM. There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom's electric moccason That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day.  OF CORDIALITY BUT NEVER MET THIS FELLOW ATTENDED OR ALONE WITHOUT A TIGHTER BREATHING AND ZERO AT THE BONE TWENTY FIVE THE MUSHROOM THE MUSHROOM IS THE ELF OF PLANTS AT EVENING IT IS NOT AT MORNING IN A TRUFFLED HUT IT STOPS UPON A SPOT AS IF IT TARRIED ALWAYS AND YET ITS WHOLE CAREER IS SHORTER THAN A SNAKE'S DELAY AND FLEETER THAN A TEAR TIS VEGETATION'S JUGGLER THE GERM OF ALIBI DOTH LIKE A BUBBLE ANTEDATE AND LIKE A BUBBLE HIGH I FEEL AS IF THE GRASS WERE PLEASED TO HAVE IT INTERMIT THE SURREPTITIOUS SCION OF SUMMER'S CIRCUMSPECT HAD NATURE ANY OUTCAST FACE COULD SHE A SON CONTEMN HAD NATURE AN ASCARIOT THAT MUSHROOM IT IS HIM TWENTY SIX THE STORM THERE CAME A WIND LIKE A BUGLE IT QUIVERED THROUGH THE GRASS AND A GREEN CHILL UPON THE HEAT SO OMINOUS DID PASS WE BARRED THE WINDOWS AND THE DOORS AS FROM AN EMERALD GHOST THE DOOM'S ELECTRIC MOCCASIN THAT VERY INSTANT PAST ON A STRANGE MOB OF PANTING TREES AND FENCES FLED AWAY AND RIVERS WHERE THE HOUSES RAN THE LIVING LOOK'D THAT DAY
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