Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Emily Dickinson’s “Could live – did live”
Emily Dickinson’s speaker in “Could live – did live” is speculating about the possible inner motivation that urged on the heart of an individual acquaintance who has now died. He did live, she insists, but what drove him?—This man, who seems to have maintained such an even-minded temperament.
Introduction and Text of “Could live – did live”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Could live – did live,” the speaker is speculating about the inner life of an individual who has died. Because she refers to the deceased as “he” and “his” in the lines, “Through faith in one he met not, / To introduce his soul,” it is safe to assume that the individual is a man or boy—more likely a man because of the nature of the information offered by the speaker.
The dead man has experienced enough of life that the speaker, who has observed at least periodically the man living his life, has acquired and retained enough information to make certain assumptions about how he thought and felt and what his inclinations might have been.
As Dickinson is wont to do, in this poem, the poet is playing with English grammar. She is employing the conditional mood of verbs. In the opening two lines, she juxtaposes the conditional mood use with the indicative mood emphatic; thus, she moves from “could live” to “did live.”
That the poet added her own emphasis to the emphatic “did” further highlights her play on the language. In modern print, the emphasis is shown by italicizing—”did“—while in her handwriting, Dickinson shows that emphasis by underlining–”did.”
Could live – did live
Could live – did live – Could die – did die – Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not, To introduce his soul.
Could go from scene familiar To an untraversed spot – Could contemplate the journey With unpuzzled heart –
Such trust had one among us, Among us not today – We who saw the launching Never sailed the Bay!
Commentary on “Could live – did live”
The speaker in this Dickinson gem is offering a somewhat clipped observation about the possible inner life of an individual male acquaintance who has died. She has observed at least enough of the individual’s comings and going that she remains capable of forming an opinion about him.
Interestingly, what the speaker claims about the possible inner life of another more than likely remains even more on target about her own station in life.
First Stanza: Conditional Speculation
Could live – did live – Could die – did die – Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not, To introduce his soul.
The speaker begins by contrasting the difference between the conditional and the indicative moods. She states elliptically that someone had been able to live —”could”—but then adds immediately that he did, in fact, live.
The first proposition is stated with the conditional mood auxiliary verb “could,” and the second half of her statement features the emphatic form “did” of the indicative mood “live.”
In the second line, she repeats the conditional vs indicative moods again with the opposite of “live.” Thus she is reporting that someone who could have lived, did, in fact, live, and then this same individual could have died—because he lived, of course—and he, in fact, “did die.”
By playing with the grammar of the language, the speaker indicates that her own solemn mood may be moving her to speculate and to postpone her grieving for this individual. But then she launches another conditional mood “could smile,” as she reports the level of the deceased’s faith.
The deceased was able to smile upon the whole bewildering commotion of life and death likely remaining quite neutral about any deep meaning those puzzling acts might hold; he, at least, possessed some level of faith to be able to hold such a smile, and his soul thereby has remained an entity without dedication to a higher consciousness. The speaker, however, is merely reporting, not judging.
Second Stanza: Remaining Conditional
Could go from scene familiar To an untraversed spot – Could contemplate the journey With unpuzzled heart –
Returning again to the conditional mood, the speaker continues to report on the deceased’s ability to face the various vicissitudes of life. His temperamental state seems to have remained somewhat even-minded whether he was moving in “familiar” territory or venturing out to parts unknown.
The speaker asserts that the deceased “could go” and was also able to “contemplate” his travels without his “heart” becoming puzzled, or likely even frazzled. The speaker is offering only her interpretation of how the deceased felt; thus the continued employment of the conditional mood remains operative and most appropriate.
While her uncertainly is not paramount, she, nevertheless, does not wish to sound as though she can make any final pronouncement about how the deceased went about his life and his days upon planet Earth.
She knows that too deep a speculation would ultimately amount to judging. She does imply that she likely would not retain such an even-minded ability throughout her puzzling sojourn through life and death.
Third Stanza: Trust and Faith in Life’s Inner Turmoil
Such trust had one among us, Among us not today – We who saw the launching Never sailed the Bay!
The speaker finalizes her speculative evaluation of the deceased’s inner mental/heartfelt state by asserting that his trust, which did not rise to level of faith, was as she has thus far described. He was “among us,” and today he is no longer “among us.”
The speaker then concludes by remarking that although “we,” the living, have been able to observe the manner in which the deceased passed his days, we cannot know for certain how his experience actually shaped and formed his deep heart’s core and ultimate mental state.
While we may have observed, an observation is not the actual experience. The deceased is the only one who has “sailed the Bay”; his friends, family, and acquaintances merely caught certain glimpses of his “launching.” They remain in state of “should, would, could” as far as the deceased’s inner life is concerned.
The speaker offers an observation, however, that may be quite accurate, but in the long run, the accuracy is in her own self-revelation, not necessarily in that of the target of her report.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Emily Dickinson’s “A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!” dramatizes the intensity with which an individual may view the simple act of the opening of a day. She concludes by revealing the superior power of the soul in overcoming all adversity.
Introduction and Text of “A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!”
The speaker of Emily Dickinson’s “A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!” opens with an effusion, calling for assistance—another day is here and dire need, calamity, and trials and tribulations are on the horizon. This speaker has opened her heart and mind to the material level of reality and is reacting to the cant and cacophony that that level brings the sensitive individual.
After offering a broad scope for consideration of national and worldly events, the speaker concludes with the same heartfelt level of awareness that leads the speaker and her environment of sensitivities back to her garden of soul reality. The soul triumphs despite upsetting—even disastrous—worldly or national events. The soul remains able to “stand unshaken amid the crash of breaking worlds.”
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple The flags of nations swang. Steady — my soul: What issues Upon thine arrow hang!
Commentary on “A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!”
The speaker offers a contrasting movement from effusion at possible impending calamity to revelation of steadfast, complete endurance in the face of all chaos and consternation.
First Movement: A Cry of Consternation
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by!
The speaker stations herself in an etherial location from which she can contemplate and consider the vicissitudes of life. Upon awakening to the breaking of “Another Day!,” she offers a prayerful command to one who “[p]ass[es] by” her vision, imploring that individual for “Prayers.”
At this point, the speaker has offered only a nebulous environment from which she can view activities, contemplate events, and make judgments about them. Little can be fathomed from such an effusive outcry, but she has attracted attention for her discourse.
The speaker’s opening cry that another day has opened, and then her subsequent cry for “Help! Help!” alerts those around her that all is not well, or at least, not likely to remain so for long.
Thus something must be out of order, or some circumstance which eludes her control prompts her to command assistance—all for the simple act of another day arriving. At first blush, such drama may seem melodramatic, but as the speaker continues, all events, thoughts, and feelings take their appropriate place upon the horizon.
Second Movement: The Potential for Winning
From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory!
The speaker continues to remain somewhat vague, yet at the same time she refers to the planet upon which she takes her breaths and pulses her blood. Calling Earth a “common ball,” she adds that despite her opening call for help, such a place may offer the scope and time allotment for great winning.
The “Victory” upon which the speaker may stand remains at this point a forethought, perhaps even an illusion. She has not yet revealed any specific reason for her opening effusive cry or for implying that some victorious event may occur.
As she continues to riddle and minimize, she yet opens her toolkit of ideas, images, and emotions to a vast array of pairs of opposites, such as the trope of winning and losing, and then to opening and closing, weakness and strength, close and far, life and death.
Third Movement: A Pride of Being
From marshallings as simple The flags of nations swang.
The speaker then alludes to national pride—the allowing to swing the banners of nations; thus she indicates that the country has accrued some level of success in some undertaking. Such prideful acts could include war, treaties with potential enemies, or creating a national harmony that permits citizens to crave out better, more prosperous lives.
The speaker still has not delineated any specifics, for her purpose remains to make a general statement, a simple remark in passing regarding the nature of reality and how actions and events accrue to yield any given result. She has, thus far, opened the day with a concerning cry but then yielded to the possibility of victory—which at the same time yields the possibility of utter failure.
Now by referring to “flags,” the speaker has opened her discourse to the likelihood that she wishes to make a generalized statement about events that in no way remain in the private or personal sphere of reality.
The speaker now has only one way to continue this observation—she must bring events into her own sphere, else she will have to abandon any hope making a sensible observation.
Fourth Movement: The Soul’s Victory
Steady — my soul: What issues Upon thine arrow hang!
The speaker then abruptly addresses her own soul, admonishing it to be “Steady.” She has touched, even if lightly, on activities, events, and possibilities at worldly and national levels. She has implied that these activities, events, and possibilities may have a detrimental effect on her as an individual.
Such detriment would rattle the hearts and minds of any individual, perhaps even to soul level. Thus the speaker now closes her investigation on those outside possibilities, concentrates on the purely personal, and discovers that she must calm her heart and mind in order for her soul to become once again “Steady.”
The speaker’s final effusion is the simple remark that profundity clings to the sharp point of soul clarity. Metaphorically likening the soul to an “arrow” allows her to demonstrate that the soul is the only weapon that can discharge and conquer the “issues” that fluster, confuses, and cause pain and anguish in the hearts and minds of individuals.
Obsolete Usage: “Swang”
The term “swang” is the obsolete irregular simple past tense form of “swing,” which apparently was still in use in the Dickinsonian century; current usage requires “swung,” the same form as the past participle “swung.” Similar verb forms such as “sting,” “sling,” and “fling” have all lost their simple past tense form of “stang,” “slang,” and “flang.”
The verb “ring” however retains its irregular simple past tense form of “rang”: “ring, rang, rung” remain the three usages that continue in the current American parlance.
The terms, “ding,” which has a similar meaning to “ring,” and “bring” both have different simple past and participle forms: “ding” follows the regular verb formation by merely adding the suffix “-ed” to the present tense form, while “bring” has the irregular form of “brought” in both simple past and past participle forms.
A close study of the etymology of these terms would reveal the trajectory of those changes, and they would likely be perfectly sensible, even though a mere glance seems that this change in language usage has no rime or reason.
Before Thou didst become my polestar, I was diverted by the one who boasts Deep fish and salt-crusted waves. The one who puffs our pride that all rivers Rush to embrace his power.
O! I stood dumbfounded at how big his waters were— Without an inkling of Thy infinite vastness, I could never have guessed That he is much less than a raindrop In the palm of Thy hand.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Emily Dickinson’s “I robbed the Woods”
In “I robbed the Woods,” Emily Dickinson creates a speaker who confesses to a crime: she has robbed the “trusting” woods and “unsuspecting” trees, and she later wonders what those natural beings will say about her brazen act.
Introduction and Text of “I robbed the Woods”
Upon being faced with such a bizarre claim—”I robbed the Woods”—the reader has his/her curiosity immediately fetched to the forefront. How on earth can an individual rob a woods?—one has to wonder.
But then this is Emily Dickinson, whose mastery at confiding ideas in words leaves little doubt that that claims is exactly what happened—whether it ends up literal or figurative, although, one will likely bet on the figurative.
Emily Dickinson was a master at riddle-making, and in her poem, “I robbed the Woods,” her speaker’s metaphorical comparison of keen observation and mental note-taking to committing a robbery reveals how complex and insightful was her poet mind.
Her metaphor functions almost exactly as a riddle functions: she lays out details and as they stack up, she allows her listening audience/readers to guess what her exact vehicle remains and does.
While there is no one item to which the speaker is referring in “I robbed the Woods”—as in “It sifts from Leaden Sieves” and “I like to see it lap the Miles“—her metaphorical comparison itself becomes the target of the riddle-like device.
I robbed the Woods
I robbed the Woods – The trusting Woods. The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses My fantasy to please. I scanned their trinkets curious –
I grasped – I bore away – What will the solemn Hemlock – What will the Oak tree say?
Commentary on “I robbed the Woods”
Emily Dickinson’s poem “I Robbed the Woods” reads almost like a riddle. The speaker likens the simple act of observing nature to committing a daring theft, creating a vivid and fascinating metaphor. The poem plays with ideas of observation, memory, and awareness—all essential tools for transforming everyday experiences into poetry.
At first glance, the speaker appears to be confessing to a crime. But, of course, Dickinson’s speaker is not confessing to an actual robbery. Instead, she is playing with metaphor, turning the act of noticing nature’s beauty into something mischievous and thrilling.
First Movement: A Startling Confession
I robbed the Woods – The trusting Woods.
Right away, the speaker makes a dramatic declaration: she has stolen something. Not just from anywhere, but from “the Woods.” This opening line grabs our attention. We instinctively wonder—what exactly has she stolen?
And how does one even “rob” a forest? Before we can fully process these questions, the speaker adds an unexpected detail: the woods were “trusting.” This makes the whole situation even more strange.
The natural world is not something we usually think of as trusting or naïve, but Dickinson’s speaker gives it a personality here. The woods, in its openness, has allowed itself to be “robbed.” This choice of words makes the supposed crime feel both playful and profound.
With this setup, the speaker draws us into a mystery. What was stolen? Why does the speaker consider it a robbery? And will the woods—so trusting and unguarded—react to this act of theft? These questions pull us deeper into the poem, eager for answers.
Second Movement: Pleasing Her Fantasy
The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses My fantasy to please.
Now, the speaker begins to explain. The trees, completely unaware of her intentions, put their treasures on display—”Burs and mosses.” These details immediately paint a picture of the forest: rich textures, small natural wonders that might normally go unnoticed.
The way the speaker describes it, the trees act almost like merchants in a marketplace, showing off their goods. It is as if they are inviting admiration, just like a jeweler might showcase glistening diamonds and pearls.
But instead of precious stones, these trees offer their own organic “trinkets”—simple, earthy, yet still mesmerizing in their own way. The speaker tells us that all of this was done “to please [her] fantasy.” This line is very important.
It suggests that the entire experience—the observation, the appreciation, and ultimately the “robbery”—exists in the realm of imagination. This act is not a literal theft. Instead, it is about the way the speaker experiences nature: as something so generous and beautiful that it feels like a gift meant just for her.
Third Movement: Absconding with Treasures
I scanned their trinkets curious – I grasped – I bore away –
At this point, the speaker goes from passive observer to active participant. She doesn’t just look at the forest’s offerings—she takes them. The moment of action is quick and decisive: she scans, grasps, and then flees, just like a thief making off with stolen goods.
The word “trinkets” adds another layer of meaning. It reinforces the idea that what she is “stealing” isn not something grand or material, but rather small, delicate details—the kind of things most people might overlook. But for the speaker, these tiny elements of nature are priceless treasures.
What is striking here is the speaker’s sense of urgency. She does not linger or ask permission. Instead, she takes what she sees and makes off with it. This moment captures the essence of artistic inspiration.
Writers and artists often “steal” from the world around them—not in a dishonest way, but by absorbing details, emotions, and experiences to transform them into something new.
Fourth Movement: The Metaphor of Theft
What will the solemn Hemlock – What will the Oak tree say?
Now that the “crime” has been committed, the speaker pauses to consider the consequences. Will the trees—specifically the “solemn Hemlock” and “Oak tree”—react to her actions? By naming these trees, the speaker gives them weight and personality.
The hemlock, often associated with seriousness (and even poison, as in the case of Socrates), contrasts with the sturdy and dependable oak. The speaker seems to be wondering if these wise old trees will judge her for what she has done.
But, of course, trees do not speak. The question is rhetorical, reinforcing the idea that the “robbery” is symbolic. The speaker has not taken anything physical—no branches, no leaves, no moss. Instead, she has taken impressions, memories, and inspiration. The true theft is not from the forest itself, but from the experience of being in it.
A Crimeless “Crime”
In the end, Dickinson’s speaker has not done anything wrong. Her so-called “robbery” is simply a metaphor for the way we experience and internalize the world around us. The poet “steals” moments—images, sensations, emotions—and carries them away, transforming them into art.
This poem is a playful yet profound meditation on the relationship between nature and creativity of the human mind. It reminds us that beauty is all around us, freely given, just waiting for someone to notice.
And in noticing—really noticing the details involved—we take a little piece of it with us. We “steal” these glimpses of wonder, storing them in our minds and hearts, where they become part of us.
For Dickinson’s speaker, this act of “theft” is not a crime, but a necessary part of being a poet. Observing the world with keen awareness, collecting its details, and reshaping them into something new—this is what poetry is all about. And, as this poem suggests, the woods will not mind. They trust us to take what we need and carry it forward in our own way.
Celebrating Poetic Inspiration
Emily Dickinson’s “I Robbed the Woods” is more than just a clever metaphor—it is a celebration of artistic inspiration. It invites us to look at the world around us with fresh eyes, to appreciate the small details, and to recognize the quiet generosity of nature.
So the next time you find yourself walking through the woods, pay attention. Notice the way the moss clings to the bark, the way the light streams through the leaves, the way the air smells after the rain. Take it all in.
And if you feel as if you have stolen a little something in the process—you need not worry. The trees, the light, and smell of rain will not mind, because they were divinely offering all of this to you free of charge.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Emily Dickinson’s “I like to see it lap the Miles”
Mastercraftsman and talented mystical investigator Emily Dickinson composed several poems that function somewhat like riddles; they do not mention their subject, which can be determined only by correctly interpreting the poetic devices.
Introduction and Text of “I like to see it lap the Miles”
Emily Dickinson composed most of her poems, focusing and delving into profound themes: life, death, the afterlife (immortality), and complex human relationships. However, the reclusive poet also composed a number of poems that show a propensity for pure fun.
These poems may be rightfully called riddles as they only suggest the subject, allowing the reader to suss out what the subject is. “I like to see it lap the Miles” remains one of her most anthologized efforts, which teachers like to use to entice student’s poetic prowess.
I like to see it lap the Miles
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 Ribs 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 –
Commentary on “I like to see it lap the Miles”
The poem “I like to see it lap the Miles” plays out in four stanzas with the first, second, and fourth containing four lines, and the third five lines. This poem presents a double metaphor making it also a double riddle. Two questions arise regarding its contents: Who (or what) is the actor in the poem? What is the actor doing?
First Stanza: What the Speaker Likes
I like to see it lap the Miles – And lick the Valleys up – And stop to feed itself at Tanks – And then – prodigious step
The first stanza finds the speaker asserting that she likes, “to see it lap the Miles / And lick the Valleys up / And stop to feed itself at Tanks.”
The “it” of this riddle/poem seems to be an animal gulping up water perhaps, and nipping at a salt lick or gobbling food; however, it then does what an animal would never do when it stops to “feed itself at Tanks.”
Second Stanza: First Blush Inaccurate
Around a Pile of Mountains – And supercilious peer In Shanties – by the sides of Roads – And then a Quarry pare
This subject may at first seem like an animal, likely a horse, but it becomes clear that it is not a horse. It has to be a subject more powerful; it has the ability to “step” “Around a Pile of Mountains.”
Third Stanza: What No Animal Can Do
To fit its Ribs And crawl between Complaining all the while In horrid – hooting stanza – Then chase itself down Hill –
In addition to gaining speed around a mountain, this subject can peep into the little “shanties” along the way. Also, this subject can cut out enough room for it to fit the mountain, “To . . . its Ribs.”
Even though the subject itself could not possibly have carved out its own way through the mountain, and it was necessary for some other object to do so, this procedure was previously accomplished, so the speaker leaves it in something of a blur.
This stanza affirms that the subject is not an animal: it makes a noise “in horrid – hooting stanza.” While owls might make hooting sounds, surely no owl could have performed the tasks that this one has already done. Thus horse clearly presents itself as a candidate as a metaphor for something.
Fourth Stanza: Biblical Allusion
And neigh like Boanerges – Then – punctual as a Star Stop – docile and omnipotent At its own stable door –
The final piece of the description shows the subject as it “chase[s] itself down Hill” while it “neigh[s] like Boanerges.” “Boanerges” is a term found in the King James Version of the Holy Bible at Mark 3:17, indicating “sons of thunder,” an appellation Jesus Christ applied to John and James because they so loudly displayed their zeal for evangelizing.
Finally, the subject arrives on time at its destination, heralding the end of this trip. It becomes “docile and omnipotent / At its own stable door.” While the metaphor of a horse continued throughout the description in the poem, readers/listeners will at last understand that the subject is, in fact, a train, which is, of course, not a biological horse but is, indeed, an “iron horse.”
Thus the answers to the beginning questions: (1) it is a train (2) traveling through the countryside, ultimately arriving on time at its appointed destination.
Emily Dickinson composed several poems that are just pure fun; they work similarly to riddles, not mentioning their subject that can be determined only by a correct interpretation of the poetic devices.
Introduction and Text of “It sifts from Leaden Sieves”
It is widely understood that Emily Dickinson fashioned most of her poems to focus on profound themes: life, death, the afterlife (immortality), and complex human relationships.
However, the Amherst recluse also composed a number of poems that show a propensity for pure fun. These poems may be validly called riddles as they describe the subject but allow the reader to ferret out what the subject is.
It sifts from Leaden Sieves
It sifts from Leaden Sieves – It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road –
It makes an Even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain – Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again –
It reaches to the Fence – It wraps it Rail by Rail Till it is lost in Fleeces – It deals Celestial Vail
To Stump, and Stack – and Stem – A Summer’s empty Room – Acres of Joints, where Harvests were, Recordless, but for them–
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts As Ankles of a Queen – Then stills its Artisans – like Ghosts – Denying they have been –
Commentary on “It sifts from Leaden Sieves”
This Dickinson poem functions as a riddle and remains on of her most widely anthologized creations. The poem displays in 5 four-line stanzas.
First Stanza: The Opening Metaphor
It sifts from Leaden Sieves – It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road –
The speaker begins by metaphorically describing the item as a material that behaves much as does flour that one would use to bake a cake. The substance that “sifts from Leaden Sieves” is behaving as if a housewife or baker might be doing in sifting flour for baking.
As the housewife sifts the flour, she places it in a bowl to prepare the dough; then she spreads the flour over a countertop or cutting board so she can roll out the dough. However, the poem’s sifted substance does not end up in a bowl, not even in the house at all, but in the woods. As it does so, it fills in the cracks in the road and has the appearance of “Alabaster Wool.”
Second Stanza: A Kitchen Metaphor
It makes an Even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain – Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again –
Then the kitchen metaphor transforms into a hyperbolic face as the speaker asserts that this substance has piled so high that it creates the illusion that a mountain and the plain that appear level; it is “Unbroken Forehead from the East / Unto the East again.”
Third Stanza: Moving Outdoors
It reaches to the Fence – It wraps it Rail by Rail Till it is lost in Fleeces – It deals Celestial Vail
The speaker then has the substance reaching to the fence where it forms a ring around the rail, making the fence appear to be wearing wedding gear. The speaker describes the fields on which the substance has landed as “Summer’s empty Room”; the fields have been harvested and only stubble is still standing.
Fourth Stanza: A Substance That Seems Ubiquitous
To Stump, and Stack – and Stem – A Summer’s empty Room – Acres of Joints, where Harvests were, Recordless, but for them–
Now the substance fills up the empty field. It become unrecognizable as a field but for the several stalks that still stand up through the white material that has fallen on them like flour over a countertop.
Fifth Stanza: The Sifting Powder Made Plain
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts As Ankles of a Queen – Then stills its Artisans – like Ghosts – Denying they have been –
In the final stanza, the speaker portrays the substance of some lace-like material that might be worn by a queen, but it is adding ruffles to the “Wrists of Posts.” Suddenly, the weather changes, it stops snowing, and it seems that craftsmen suddenly ceased their work.
The scene has been created, and by this time, readers and listeners will be aware that the substance that “sifts from Leaden Sieves” and “powders” the landscape is none other than snow, which the poem/riddle has never named, but only suggested.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Emily Dickinson’s “When I count the seeds”
In “When I count the seeds,” Emily Dickinson’s speaker is contemplating her spiritual garden, wherein she plants and grows the metaphorical seeds for her poems. She introduced this garden in the poem, “There is another sky.”
Introduction and Text of “When I count the seeds”
In her poem, “There is another sky,” Emily Dickinson creates a speaker who introduces her own spiritual, mystical garden, the second poem featured in Editor Thomas Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, the volume in which Johnson presents Dickinson’s original forms, rescuing them from the versions that had been manipulated and altered by editors such as Mabel Loomis Todd and Thomas Higginson.
In “When I count the seeds,” the speaker is musing on the nature of her spiritual garden of verse and ultimately concludes its importance for her. After such mental forays into the blessed garden, her beloved, favorite season, “summer,” she can leave without trepidation.
The form of the poem is structured on three “when” clauses, after which the speaker makes the claim that something happens following the activities in the clauses. Because of the vague nature of the adverbial conjunction, “when,” one should think of its meaning as “after.” It is after each of the events in the “when” clauses that the last line’s activity becomes possible.
When I count the seeds
When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye –
When I con the people Lain so low, To be received as high –
When I believe the garden Mortal shall not see – Pick by faith its blossom And avoid its Bee, I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.
Commentary on “When I count the seeds”
Each “when” clause features an event, after the sum of which the speaker becomes relieved of the human trepidation of regret at losing some desired situation. In this case, it is simply the passing of summer.
The speaker feels a certain melancholy at the end of the summer season. That emotion presents a problem that she must solve, lest she remain in blue funk. Her wide brain is up to the task, as she storms her garden of verse for the answer to the difficulty.
First Stanza: Taking Stock
When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye –
From time to time, the speaker takes stock of her little garden. In this musing, she begins by implying that something will occur after she has “count[ed] the seeds.” She reports that the seeds once planted beneath the soil in the spiritual garden, they do, as any seed will, bloom, as time goes by.
An interesting tension results because “the seeds” are the ideas, thoughts, and/or prompts for each poem in her spiritually effected garden. After each idea or thought or prompt has been sown, it will blossom forth into a perfect flower-poem. In time, she has found that she possesses many seeds as well as flowers to be reckoned with.
The term “count” is employed metaphorically to stand as “reckon,” “contemplate,” or more likely even, “muse,” rather than the literal, mathematical rendering of the term’s definition. She is not counting to find out how many seeds she has; she is musing on the lot for the glory of outcome they possess.
Second Stanza: Continuing to Contemplate
When I con the people Lain so low, To be received as high –
The second “when” clause addresses the time-frame wherein the speaker has contemplated folks who have been demoted from high station to low but likely still remain held in high regard to many others. Some folks have died, and yet their reputations have been elevated.
The speaker’s reason for musing on this situation likely ascends out of a need to place evaluations on the stages of life. To be placed “so low” metaphorically responds to being placed in the lowest position the human body may find itself, that is, in the bottom of a grave.
Yet, the generality of the phrase “so low” remains easily understood as position in life from a lowly profession to a high one, for example, a dog catcher to a president or CEO. After such cogitation on the seeds of her spiritual garden and then on the various degrees of humanity, the speaker is almost ready to assert her report about what happens next.
Third Stanza: Achievement of Purpose
When I believe the garden Mortal shall not see – Pick by faith its blossom And avoid its Bee, I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.
In the final “when” clause, the speaker is asserting that after she has had the opportunity to survey the marvelous, mystical garden, which may not be perceived through “mortal” vision, her faith allows her to pluck any of the garden’s magic blossoms.
And then she can re-experience any of the poems which have thus far been cultivated therein without attracting the painful attention of the worrisome sting of “its Bee,” a natural creature that would bedevil any literal garden.
So after she has contemplated the seeds (thoughts, feelings), which have led to sprouting those flowers (poems), and after she has mused on the nature of human status, and finally after she has plucked (read) one of those “blossom[s]” (poems), she can recover from feeling any sorrow and regret that her beloved, favorite season of summer is now coming to a close.
The little drama featured in this poem remains so simple, yet through the instrumentality of the complex talent possessed by the poet, the resulting discourse features a colorful, strikingly refreshing account that reveals the nature of profound, intuitive thinking.
The poet possessed virtually magical powers of seeing deep into the nature of each created object, into each empirical development, and into each observable array of kinetic energy that infused those things and events.
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