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Here without analysis, counting of feet, nor rhythm and rhyme, are five of Emily’s poems for you to sit with and ponder, if you wish. They are the last five (again, as best as we can determine) of Emily Dickinson’s published poems. One might think of them as end-of-life poetry, but that seems arbitrary. I doubt she said:

I believe I shall soon Die

so I shall five Poems try

to leave as my final thinking

ere my eyes stop earthly blinking.

I said no commentary. Forgive my fickleness.

How fleet -- how indiscreet an one-- how always wrong is Love-- The joyful little Deity

We are not scourged to serve--

Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip, Nor beg, with Domains in my Pocket -

The Summer that we did not prize, Her treasures were so easy Instructs us by departing now And recognition lazy — Bestirs itself — puts on its Coat, And scans with fatal promptness For Trains that moment out of sight, Unconscious of his smartness.

Too happy Time dissolves itself And leaves no remnant by - 'Tis Anguish not a Feather hath Or too much weight to fly –

Version One

NOTE: According to Franklin, the first line of poem 1775 is The Earth has many keys. Perhaps it was first a stand-alone poem, then included in this longer piece. I saw five poems assigned the number 1775; all five begin with Further in Summer than the Birds - John determined this to be poem 1068. She was in many ways an inscrutable imp, our Emily!

Further in Summer than the Birds - Pathetic from the Grass - A Minor Nation celebrates It's unobtrusive Mass - No Ordinance be seen - So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness - 'Tis Audiblest, at Dusk - When Day's attempt is done - And Nature nothing waits to do But terminate in Tune - Nor difference it knows Of Cadence, or of Pause - But simultaneous as Same - The Service emphacize - Nor know I when it cease - At Candles, it is here - When Sunrise is - that it is not - Than this, I know no more - The Earth has many keys - Where Melody is not Is the Unknown Peninsula - Beauty - is Nature's Fact - But Witness for Her Land - And Witness for Her Sea - The Cricket is Her utmost Of Elegy, to Me -


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