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 “He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow”
Emily Dickinson’s “He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow” exposes religious hypocrisy and superficial preachment. The poem highlights how boasting of virtues often exposes an absence of genuine spiritual depth.
Introduction and Text of “He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow”
This short poem focuses sharply on religious phoniness and intellectual pride. The speaker examines a preacher whose grand proclamations create a self-defeating display. Through structured lines and clever slant rime, a clear critique emerges against those who perform righteousness rather than live it.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed issues that poetic craft can unmask artificiality within institutionalized frameworks. This specific work addresses the tragic irony of a minister whose expansive rhetoric shrinks his spiritual reality, showing how pride reduces immense truth to small, rigid dogmas.
By looking past outer performance, the piece offers a deep invitation to inner authenticity. The speaker challenges religious pretense directly, setting a stage where false holiness fails to stand under close scrutiny.
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow – The Broad are too broad to define And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaimed him a Liar – The Truth never flaunted a Sign –
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence As Gold the Pyrites would shun – What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus To meet so enabled a Man!
Commentary on “He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow”
The speaker analyzes religious pretense, showing that excessive rhetoric inevitably collapses into spiritual limitation. This critique highlights the superiority of quiet simplicity over loud, boastful hypocrisy.
First Stanza: “He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow”
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till it argued him narrow – The Broad are too broad to define And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaimed him a Liar – The Truth never flaunted a Sign –
The opening lines illustrate a profound theological contradiction. The speaker notes that the preacher talks excessively about tolerance and openness. Yet, this endless talking achieves the opposite effect.
It reveals his internal limitations. By continuously explaining a vast concept, the minister confines it within narrow human parameters. True spiritual vastness cannot be fully captured by mere words. The speaker exposes this vanity clearly.
The second line emphasizes that immense divine concepts remain completely beyond simple human definitions. True breadth resists rigid categorization. When the preacher attempts to define it, he merely reveals his intellectual arrogance. The speaker then addresses the concept of ultimate truth. The minister talks so much about it that his very demeanor screams deception. His elaborate speech patterns proclaim him a liar.
Authentic truth does not require a loud, external declaration or vanity. It exists quietly and purely on its own. The speaker shows that a proud display is always a sign of falsehood. Engaging in contemplative musing helps readers perceive this subtle dynamic.
We see that the divine essence requires no advertisement. It shines naturally through a quiet, humble heart. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that real spiritual truth must be felt within the soul rather than argued externally. His divine insights remind us that God is realized through silence.
The perfect rime scheme enhances this message of cosmic balance. The structured lines reflect how nature rejects pretension. The speaker uses these elements to dismantle the preacher’s hollow authority completely. The preacher’s downfall is his reliance on public recognition.
He mistakes loud rhetoric for genuine faith. The speaker masterfully highlights that this outward focus creates an empty, unspiritual shell. This critique stays perfectly aligned with traditional themes of spiritual integrity. True faith remains invisible to a superficial eye. The speaker urges her listeners to seek internal clarity instead.
Second Stanza: “Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence”
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence As Gold the Pyrites would shun – What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus To meet so enabled a Man!
The second stanza opens with a striking visual image of immediate rejection. Simplicity actively runs away from the preacher. The speaker calls his entire character a counterfeit presence. Purity cannot coexist with artificiality or pride. The contrast becomes sharper with the brilliant analogy of gold and pyrites. Real gold naturally separates itself from worthless fool’s gold.
The preacher resembles pyrites because he shines superficially but possesses no actual value. The speaker uses this comparison to show that spiritual vanity can easily deceive an uncritical observer. True spiritual life requires an unadorned, transparent nature. Through simple observation, one becomes aware that the preacher’s complicated dogmas drive away the pure essence of divine grace.
The speaker then introduces a powerful comparison involving Jesus the Christ. The text suggests that Christ would feel utter confusion upon meeting such an unnaturally enabled and self-important individual. Jesus represents ultimate humility and simple truth. The minister represents an over-engineered, institutional structure. This sharp juxtaposition highlights the deep chasm between modern religion and true spirituality.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that true religious understanding mirrors the childlike simplicity of Christ. His holy teachings emphasize that intellectual pride blocks real divine communion.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the frequent contrast between pure gospel ideals and corrupt religious leadership. This poem delivers that exact message brilliantly. The masterfully placed rime underlines the absolute certainty of this spiritual law. Falsehood can never truly blend with truth.
The speaker leaves readers with a lasting warning against vanity. Ultimately, the work serves as a timeless guide for genuine seekers. It encourages its listeners to look past decorated pulpits. The speaker points her audience directly toward a quiet, inner temple.
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 meant to have but modest needs”
Emily Dickinson’s “I meant to have but modest needs” reveals the speaker’s earnest spiritual nature while dramatizing her movement from innocent confidence to wary skepticism regarding the fulfillment of prayer.
Introduction and Text of “I meant to have but modest needs”
Emily Dickinson’s “I meant to have but modest needs” consists of six stanzas that trace the speaker’s journey from humble expectation through prayer, apparent heavenly approval, disappointment, and finally mature reflection. The little drama demonstrates the speaker’s ability to mingle gentle humor with profound spiritual inquiry.
While the poem entertains with witty irony, it also examines the nature of divine grace, faith, and human expectation. In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s remarkable ability to transform contemplative musing into compelling poetic drama while allowing spiritual questions to remain invitingly open.
I meant to have but modest needs
I meant to have but modest needs – Such as Content – and Heaven – Within my income – these could lie And Life and I – keep even –
But since the last – included both – It would suffice my Prayer But just for One – to stipulate – And Grace would grant the Pair –
And so – upon this wise – I prayed – Great Spirit – Give to me A Heaven not so large as Yours, But large enough – for me –
A Smile suffused Jehovah’s face – The Cherubim – withdrew – Grave Saints stole out to look at me – And showed their dimples – too –
I left the Place, with all my might – I threw my Prayer away – The Quiet Ages picked it up – And Judgment – twinkled – too – That one so honest – be extant – It take the Tale for true – That “Whatsoever Ye shall ask – Itself be given You.”
But I, grown shrewder – scan the Skies With a suspicious Air – As Children – swindled for the first All Swindlers – be – infer –
Commentary on “I meant to have but modest needs”
Emily Dickinson’s “I meant to have but modest needs” portrays a speaker whose simple request gradually becomes an exploration of the relationship between divine promise and human understanding.
First Stanza: “I meant to have but modest needs”
I meant to have but modest needs – Such as Content – and Heaven – Within my income – these could lie And Life and I – keep even –
The speaker begins by insisting that her desires remain quite modest. She claims that she seeks only “Content” and “Heaven.” She has no ambition for wealth, fame, or earthly distinction. Her requests appear entirely reasonable because they concern the peace and happiness of the inner life.
She then introduces a clever commercial metaphor. The expression “Within my income” likens spiritual blessings to purchases that can be made only if one possesses sufficient means. The speaker imagines that contentment and Heaven should lie comfortably within her spiritual resources.
The phrase “Life and I – keep even” suggests that the speaker expects a balanced relationship between herself and life. She hopes that life will deal fairly with her and that her modest expectations will be met with corresponding generosity.
Yet the speaker seems to underestimate the magnitude of her request. Although she believes that contentment and Heaven constitute “modest needs,” each remains beyond the reach of material existence. Lasting contentment cannot be secured through worldly conditions, and Heaven belongs entirely to the realm of Spirit.
The speaker therefore begins with an assumption that appears simple but proves profound. She regards her request as modest because she values spiritual realities above worldly possessions. Ironically, those spiritual realities become the greatest treasures any soul can desire.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that lasting happiness comes from the soul’s communion with the Divine rather than from external circumstances. Dickinson’s speaker has not yet fully realized that truth, but her instinct already directs her toward those eternal blessings that alone can satisfy the human heart.
Second Stanza: “But since the last – included both”
But since the last – included both – It would suffice my Prayer But just for One – to stipulate – And Grace would grant the Pair –
The speaker now refines her thinking. She realizes that if she receives Heaven, she will necessarily receive contentment also. Heaven must include every blessing that the soul genuinely requires. Therefore, instead of asking for two gifts, she need ask for only one.
Her reasoning remains beautifully logical. If Heaven already contains perfect peace, requesting contentment separately becomes unnecessary. The speaker concludes that Grace will naturally provide both blessings while granting only one petition.
The speaker also demonstrates complete confidence in divine goodness. She assumes that Grace delights in giving rather than withholding. Nothing in her thinking suggests doubt that the Divine responds lovingly to sincere prayer.
The simplicity of her reasoning reveals an innocence that has not yet encountered disappointment. She believes that divine promises operate exactly as they appear. Her faith remains uncomplicated by painful experience or lingering uncertainty.
The stanza quietly prepares readers for the irony that follows. The speaker’s confidence is sincere, but sincere confidence alone cannot answer every spiritual question. The remaining stanzas will test her assumptions while enlarging her understanding.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that divine wisdom grants what serves the soul’s highest good, even when human beings do not immediately recognize that good. The speaker stands upon the threshold of discovering that the fulfillment of prayer often transcends the expectations of the one who offers it.
Third Stanza: “And so – upon this wise – I prayed”
And so – upon this wise – I prayed – Great Spirit – Give to me A Heaven not so large as Yours, But large enough – for me –
Having reasoned that Heaven embraces every worthy blessing, the speaker proceeds naturally to prayer. Her petition remains strikingly modest. She does not presume to request equality with the Divine but only asks for a portion suited to her own spiritual capacity.
The expression “Great Spirit” broadens the speaker’s address beyond denominational boundaries while preserving profound reverence. She approaches the Creator with sincerity instead of elaborate ceremony. Her directness reflects confidence that genuine prayer requires honesty more than ornament.
The request for “A Heaven not so large as Yours” reveals remarkable humility. The speaker acknowledges the immeasurable grandeur of the Divine while recognizing her own finite condition. She seeks neither dominion nor glory, only sufficient spiritual fulfillment to satisfy the soul’s deepest longing.
Yet the simplicity of the request conceals extraordinary depth. Any authentic Heaven, regardless of size, must partake of eternity. Thus the speaker appears to be asking for that which transcends all earthly limitation. Her modest language veils an infinite aspiration.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that every soul longs to recover its unity with the Infinite because that unity constitutes its true nature. The speaker’s prayer quietly reflects that eternal longing. Although expressed with charming restraint, her petition reaches beyond temporal existence toward lasting spiritual realization.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s tendency to disguise profound metaphysical inquiry beneath conversational language. That technique appears beautifully here. The speaker seems merely to request a comfortable dwelling, while she actually voices the universal desire for permanent union with divine peace.
Fourth Stanza: “A Smile suffused Jehovah’s face”
A Smile suffused Jehovah’s face – The Cherubim – withdrew – Grave Saints stole out to look at me – And showed their dimples – too –
The heavenly response arrives with delightful humor. Rather than thunder, judgment, or solemn pronouncement, the speaker beholds a smile upon Jehovah’s face. The atmosphere immediately becomes one of affection instead of fearful distance.
Even the Cherubim and Saints participate in the gentle amusement. Their dignified reserve yields to warm delight as they quietly observe the speaker’s earnest request. Dickinson’s customary wit transforms Heaven into a realm where joy naturally accompanies holiness.
The smiling saints emphasize that genuine sanctity excludes neither kindness nor humor. Their dimples humanize these exalted figures while suggesting that divine wisdom delights in innocent sincerity. The speaker’s prayer has produced no offense. Instead, it awakens heavenly sympathy.
The speaker herself, however, cannot yet interpret the meaning of those smiles. Are they signs of approval, affectionate indulgence, or recognition that she has asked for more than she realizes? Dickinson wisely leaves that question unresolved, permitting readers their own contemplative musing.
Paramahansa Yogananda frequently portrays the Divine as infinitely compassionate rather than remote or forbidding. Such a conception harmonizes with the smiling Jehovah. Divine love welcomes the sincere seeker even when that seeker’s understanding remains incomplete.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s remarkable ability to blend reverence with playful imagination. Here, celestial beings remain majestic without sacrificing warmth. The result is a memorable portrait of Heaven as both exalted and intimately accessible.
Fifth Stanza: “I left the Place, with all my might”
I left the Place, with all my might – I threw my Prayer away – The Quiet Ages picked it up – And Judgment – twinkled – too – That one so honest – be extant – It take the Tale for true – That “Whatsoever Ye shall ask – Itself be given You.”
The tone shifts dramatically. The speaker departs in haste, casting aside the very prayer she had offered with such confidence. Something has occurred that leaves her unable to retain her former certainty. Innocence begins yielding to painful experience.
Yet the prayer itself refuses extinction. The “Quiet Ages” preserve it, suggesting that sincere aspiration possesses enduring value regardless of immediate disappointment. Honest petitions continue to live within eternity even when human expectations falter.
The reference to Judgment “twinkled” tempers solemnity with irony. Dickinson’s speaker avoids portraying divine judgment as harsh condemnation. Instead, it sparkles with knowing wisdom, implying that eternal justice perceives realities hidden from limited human understanding.
The concluding biblical allusion introduces the central tension. The promise that whatsoever one asks shall be given appears difficult to reconcile with lived experience. The speaker has encountered the mystery separating literal expectation from spiritual fulfillment.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that divine response always serves the soul’s highest welfare, even when outward circumstances appear contrary to immediate desire. Such teaching illuminates the speaker’s perplexity. The Divine may answer every sincere prayer, but not always according to human anticipation.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s refusal to abandon spiritual inquiry simply because certainty proves elusive. She preserves intellectual honesty while continuing her contemplative musing. That balance between faith and questioning contributes greatly to the enduring power of Dickinson’s poetry.
Sixth Stanza: “But I, grown shrewder – scan the Skies”
But I, grown shrewder – scan the Skies With a suspicious Air – As Children – swindled for the first All Swindlers – be – infer –
The final stanza presents a speaker transformed by experience. She now examines the heavens with suspicion rather than unquestioning confidence. The change is neither cynical nor irreverent. Instead, it reflects the caution that often accompanies spiritual maturity.
The comparison with children deceived for the first time offers poignant psychological insight. Young minds frequently generalize from one painful disappointment, imagining universal deception where only partial misunderstanding exists. The speaker recognizes that tendency within herself.
Her admission reveals admirable candor. Rather than disguising uncertainty beneath conventional piety, she acknowledges the struggle to reconcile faith with experience. Such honesty strengthens rather than diminishes the poem’s spiritual authority because it arises from authentic inward observation.
The speaker does not reject Heaven, prayer, or the Divine. She merely confesses that unquestioning innocence has yielded to reflective discernment. Her faith seeks deeper understanding rather than easy reassurance.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that spiritual realization grows through direct experience instead of blind acceptance. The speaker stands precisely at that threshold. Her questions become the means through which superficial belief may mature into genuine wisdom.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s extraordinary courage in allowing unresolved tensions to remain visible. She seldom offers simplistic conclusions because authentic contemplative musing rarely ends with effortless certainty. Instead, she leaves readers contemplating the mysterious relationship between divine promise, human expectation, and the soul’s continuing search for eternal truth.
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 had not minded – Walls”
in Emily Dickinson’s “I had not minded – Walls,” the Dickinsonian speaker is exploring the vast psychological boundaries of separation of the soul from its Creator. Ultimate spiritual separation remains incredibly agonizing. This poem examines barriers hindering profound soul communion.
Introduction and Text of “I had not minded – Walls”
This classic lyric isolates the intense human struggle against metaphysical boundaries. The text employs unique punctuation to dramatize profound spiritual isolation. It features short lines marked by the poet’s characteristic slant rime patterns.
The speaker details an arduous quest to reach the Belovèd Entity. Formidable external blockades feel simple compared to thin spiritual barriers. This innovative structure emphasizes the inner world over earthly limitations.
The narrative presents an incredible journey through cosmic obstructions. Physical structures offer tangible challenges that the soul can conquer. Intangible limits present much more treacherous territory for the seeker.
I had not minded – Walls
I had not minded – Walls – Were Universe – one Rock – And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block –
I’d tunnel – till my Groove Pushed sudden thro’ to his – Then my face take her Recompense – The looking in his Eyes –
But ’tis a single Hair – A filament – a law – A Cobweb – wove in Adamant – A Battlement – of Straw –
A limit like the Veil Unto the Lady’s face – But every Mesh – a Citadel – And Dragons – in the Crease –
Commentary on “I had not minded – Walls”
The text offers deep insights into human perception and cosmic limits. Tangible barriers dissolve before determined action. Spiritual veils present the most difficult challenges to overcome.
First Stanza: “I had not minded – Walls”
I had not minded – Walls – Were Universe – one Rock – And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block –
The opening lines establish a bold hypothesis regarding physical limitations. The speaker claims that immense material obstacles would cause no distress. Even total cosmic obstruction seems manageable to the determined soul.
A massive block of rock represents tangible reality. The speaker possesses the strength to confront solid material challenges directly. Physical distance cannot diminish the power of deep spiritual focus.
The distant Belovèd emits a beautiful silver call across space. This pure auditory signal guides the seeker through earthly darkness. It provides comfort amid the vast coldness of creation. Hindus call this sound “Om”; Christians call it the “Comforter.”
Material blockades fail to discourage the speaker’s intense longing. In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s confrontation with spatial alienation. This dynamic requires deep contemplative musing to resolve fully.
The silver call represents the internal divine pull toward unity. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the inner cosmic sound guides seekers back to the Infinite Source. This sacred concept highlights the eternal nature of the soul.
The universe as a single rock represents a unified challenge. The speaker welcomes any measurable distance separating the dualities of existence. Concrete boundaries provide a clear goal for the active seeker.
Earthly limitations seem minor when compared to internal psychological blocks. The speaker desires a direct path toward the Belovèd’s presence. Material walls cannot trap a mind focused on eternity.
Second Stanza: “I’d tunnel – till my Groove”
I’d tunnel – till my Groove Pushed sudden thro’ to his – Then my face take her Recompense – The looking in his Eyes –
The speaker outlines an active plan to pierce through matter. Tunneling requires intense concentration and unyielding personal effort over time. This process represents the systematic dissolution of earthly blockades.
The word groove indicates a specific path of destiny. The speaker follows a precise internal trajectory toward ultimate reunion. This focused movement ensures an eventual breakthrough into divine awareness.
A sudden breakthrough rewards the diligent efforts of the soul. The speaker anticipates a glorious meeting after the long labor. This dramatic intersection brings the long separation to an end.
The ultimate recompense is looking directly into the eyes of the Belovèd. This visual connection symbolizes complete understanding and divine realization. The face reflects the deep joy of absolute fulfillment.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s relentless search for face-to-face divine encounter. This rewarding vision requires absolute dedication during long periods of trial. Creative focus empowers this deep meditation.
The labor of tunneling mirrors the rigorous path of self-realization. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that steady scientific effort reveals the hidden divine presence within all creation. The soul must pierce the rock of material delusion.
The meeting of the two grooves represents perfect attunement. The speaker values this direct contact above all worldly comfort. Looking into those Divine eyes satisfies the eternal longing of the heart.
Third Stanza: “But ’tis a single Hair –”
But ’tis a single Hair – A filament – a law – A Cobweb – wove in Adamant – A Battlement – of Straw –
The tone shifts dramatically with the introduction of the word “but.” The speaker realizes that the true barrier is not physical rock. Instead, an incredibly thin obstruction creates the terrifying separation.
A single hair or filament represents an almost invisible boundary. This microscopic limit proves more frustrating than a massive mountain range. Its subtle nature complicates the speaker’s intense desire for unity.
The barrier is described as a binding cosmic law. This structural rule governs the separation between human consciousness and divine reality. The soul finds itself bound by invisible threads of existence.
A cobweb woven in adamant presents a striking poetic paradox. The obstruction appears fragile yet remains completely unbreakable by human force. This delicate net resists the speaker’s most powerful assaults.
The battlement of straw reinforces this theme of deceptive strength. Weak materials form an impenetrable defense against the seeking soul. This complex imagery demands deep and careful contemplative musing leading to true meditation.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the fragile structures that often hold immense metaphysical power. The speaker feels trapped by these subtle webs of cosmic law. Ordinary human effort fails against these boundaries. This deceptive cosmic illusion mirrors the classic concept of cosmic delusion or maya.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the delicate veil of worldly illusion keeps human consciousness from perceiving the underlying Divine Reality. Breaking this web requires higher spiritual attunement.
Fourth Stanza: “A limit like the Veil”
A limit like the Veil Unto the Lady’s face – But every Mesh – a Citadel – And Dragons – in the Crease
The speaker compares the final boundary to a delicate face veil. This feminine image suggests modesty, mystery, and deliberate concealment of truth. Yet this soft limit possesses an astonishingly defensive strength.
Every single mesh of the veil becomes a powerful citadel. Small spaces transform into heavily fortified military centers of resistance. The speaker faces an army hidden within a delicate textile.
But terrifying dragons guard the tiny creases of the fabric barrier. These mythical monsters represent psychological fears and cosmic guardians blocking progress. The journey ends not in open space but in narrow folds.
The presence of dragons emphasizes the immense danger of internal exploration. In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s frequent encounters with internal terrors. Overcoming these monsters requires rigorous contemplative musing that leads to meditation.
The fortified mesh represents the dense nature of worldly consciousness. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the path to freedom requires conquering the inner psychological dragons of habit and delusion. The seeker must face these inner guards bravely.
The rime scheme concludes with a powerful emphasis on cosmic confinement. The speaker recognizes that the softest barriers are often the most secure. True liberation demands a complete transformation of the soul’s inner sight.
Ultimately, the poem exposes the intricate traps of the human mind. The speaker remains separated from the Belovèd by these subtle folds. Only divine intervention can dissolve these final structural creases.
Emily Dickinson’s “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” (1859)
Emily Dickinson’s “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” contemplates death, resurrection, and the soul’s mysterious condition beyond earthly awareness. The speaker contrasts the stillness of the grave with the restless activity of the living world.Dickinson’s 1861revision of the second stanza renders the contrast more cosmic in nature.
Introduction and Text of “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” (1859)
Emily Dickinson’s “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” is one of the speaker’s most profound meditations on death and immortality. The poem unfolds in two compact stanzas that juxtapose the silence of the tomb against the movement and noise of earthly existence.
In earlier essays, I have discussed Dickinson’s fascination with immortality and the soul’s destiny, concerns that appear repeatedly throughout her finest poems. Here the speaker creates a little drama in which the dead seem sheltered from time itself, while nature continues its cheerful but oblivious routines above them. The poem’s paradox emerges from the tension between physical death and spiritual continuance.
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers (1859)
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers Untouched by Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of satin, And Roof of stone.
Light laughs the breeze In her Castle above them— Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear, Pipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence— Ah, what sagacity perished here!
Commentary on “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers” (1859)
The speaker presents death neither as annihilation nor as tragedy. Instead, she portrays a condition of profound stillness that transcends earthly commotion.
First Stanza: “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers”
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers Untouched by Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of satin, And Roof of stone.
The opening line immediately places the dead within “Alabaster Chambers,” a metaphor for tombs or graves. The adjective “safe” establishes a surprisingly comforting atmosphere rather than one of dread. The speaker is offer the notion that these resting places serve as shelters.
The occupants remain “Untouched by Morning” and “untouched by Noon.” Time no longer affects them because earthly cycles have lost their authority. Morning and noon symbolize the passage of worldly existence from beginning toward maturity.
The speaker refers to the deceased as “the meek members of the Resurrection.” By employing the term “Resurrection,” she hints that death represents a temporary condition rather than a final ending. The dead await a future awakening beyond mortal perception.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the soul remains immortal and merely passes through a change called death. He teaches that “the soul feels a joyous sense of relief and freedom” after leaving the body. The speaker’s image of peaceful sleepers harmonizes with that spiritual concept.
The word “sleep” further softens the reality of death. Rather than depicting decay or destruction, the speaker offers an image of repose. The dead appear withdrawn from activity but not extinguished.
The final two lines provide an elegant architectural image. A “Rafter of satin” suggests softness and refinement, while a “Roof of stone” reminds readers of the grave’s physical permanence. The combination unites comfort with solemnity. The stanza presents a remarkable balance between Christian symbolism and Eastern mysticism.
In earlier essays, I have discussed Dickinson’s tendency to approach spiritual questions through intuition rather than doctrine. The speaker similarly leaves the mystery unresolved while emphasizing serenity.
The first stanza ultimately suggests that the dead have entered a realm beyond ordinary measurements of time. Their condition remains inaccessible to earthly observers. Yet the speaker implies that their apparent silence conceals a deeper destiny.
Second Stanza: “Light laughs the breeze”
Light laughs the breeze In her Castle above them— Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear, Pipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence— Ah, what sagacity perished here!
The second stanza shifts attention from the dead to the living world above them. Nature remains energetic, animated, and noisy. The speaker personifies the breeze as laughing in her “Castle.” The image of the castle elevates the atmosphere of the upper world. Air, light, and movement continue their endless activity. Meanwhile, the dead remain separated from those earthly amusements.
The bee “Babbles” into a “stolid Ear.” The adjective “stolid” rightly emphasizes the inability of the dead to respond. No sound, however lively, can penetrate their utterly profound stillness. Likewise, the birds continue their songs in “ignorant cadence.” The birds are unaware of the significance of those who lie beneath them. Of course, Nature performs her routines without comprehending human mortality.
The speaker’s insight becomes especially striking in the final line. “Ah, what sagacity perished here!” expresses admiration for the wisdom once possessed by the deceased. The exclamation acknowledges the loss of great minds and souls.
Yet the line also contains irony. If resurrection awaits, then that sagacity has not truly perished. Only its earthly expression has disappeared from human sight. This speaker is completely aware that the soul is eternal.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that death does not destroy consciousness but merely removes the soul from its bodily garment. He teaches that the soul remains “an immortal soul, a child of God.” The speaker’s lament therefore resonates more as a human perception than an ultimate truth.
The poem concludes without resolving the mystery. The cheerful sounds of nature continue above, while the dead remain hidden below. Through that contrast, the speaker invites readers to muse upon whether apparent endings conceal an unseen continuation of life.
Note on the 1861 Revision
In Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, the editor offers this poem as #216, but there are two versions of this poem, one from 1859 and one from 1861. The first stanza is virtually unchanged, except for spacing, but the second stanza takes on a whole new aura.
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers (1861)
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning And untouched by Noon— Lie the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone!
Grand go the Years—in the Crescent—above them— Worlds scoop their Arcs— And Firmaments—row— Diadems—drop—and Doges—surrender— Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow—
Dickinson’s 1861 revision shifts the poem’s emphasis from the quiet repose of the dead to the vast movements of cosmic time. In the 1859 version, the second stanza focuses on earthly nature—breezes, bees, and birds continuing their activities in ignorance of the dead below. The contrast remains local and intimate.
The 1861 version expands the speaker’s vision dramatically. Instead of observing nature’s small routines, she contemplates immense cycles of history and the universe: “Years,” “Worlds,” and “Firmaments” move across the heavens while rulers and crowns vanish. The dead remain unchanged in their “Alabaster Chambers,” but now entire civilizations and celestial systems pass before them.
The final image, “Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow,” reduces worldly power and achievement to near insignificance. Kings, doges, and diadems disappear as silently as falling snowflakes.
The revision thus deepens the poem’s contemplative musing on eternity, suggesting not merely that the dead are removed from earthly life, but that they rest beyond the reach of time itself. The perspective becomes more metaphysical, more cosmic, and ultimately more awe-inspiring than that of the earlier version.
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 “To lose one’s faith – surpass”
Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” reveals the speaker’s vision of faith as a singular inward inheritance whose loss exceeds material loss.
Introduction and Text of “To lose one’s faith – surpass”
Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” is an American-Innovative lyric featuring the Dickinsonian plethora of dashes, while remaining unrimed. The speaker contrasts spiritual loss with material loss.
The tone remains steady and reflective, allowing meaning to unfold through simple comparative statements rather than extended argument or narrative expansion. The speaker frames faith as something more interior than property or inheritance. The poem moves between material imagery and inward consequence.
To lose one’s faith – surpass –
To lose one’s faith – surpass – The loss of an Estate – Because Estates can be Replenished – faith cannot –
Inherited with Life – Belief – but once – can be – Annihilate a single clause – And Being’s – Beggary –
Commentary on “To lose one’s faith – surpass”
The speaker presents faith as an inner possession whose loss creates a deeper condition than material ruin. The poem moves toward inward deprivation rather than external loss.
First Stanza: Cannot Get Back
To lose one’s faith – surpass – The loss of an Estate – Because Estates can be Replenished – faith cannot –
The speaker begins with a quiet but firm comparison between faith and material inheritance. An estate represents something large, structured, and recoverable in worldly terms.
The speaker completes the contrast by establishing permanence in loss. An estate may return through circumstance or restoration, but faith does not follow that pattern of recovery.
The tone remains calm, almost observational, as if the speaker is stating a condition of reality rather than offering persuasion or argument. The word “surpass” suggests that spiritual loss rises above material loss in seriousness. The speaker sets a hierarchy of inward and outward value.
The estate functions as a symbol of continuity in earthly life, where loss can be repaired through time, labor, or inheritance. Faith, however, is treated as singular and non-repeatable. Once absent, it does not return in the same inward form.
The speaker’s phrasing suggests a quiet finality, where spiritual absence becomes a lasting condition rather than a temporary state. The simplicity of diction reinforces the seriousness of the claim, allowing the idea to feel inevitable rather than debated.
In earlier commentaries on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed Dickinson’s creating metaphysical weight through plain comparison rather than rhetorical expansion. The speaker’s structure mirrors this method, placing two forms of loss side by side until their difference becomes unavoidable.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that inward perception of spiritual reality requires sustained alignment, and when that alignment is broken, outer substitutes cannot fully replace it, as taught.
The speaker’s comparison therefore moves beyond economics into inward life itself, where restoration is not guaranteed. The stanza closes with a sense of irreversible distinction between what can be regained and what cannot.
Second Stanza: You, too, maybe!
Inherited with Life – Belief – but once – can be – Annihilate a single clause – And Being’s – Beggary –
The speaker shifts toward origin, suggesting that belief is not merely learned but carried within life itself as an initial endowment. The phrase “but once” introduces a sense of singularity, as if belief arrives in a form that does not naturally duplicate.
The speaker turns language itself into a structure of being. A disruption in understanding is presented as capable of total inward collapse. The “single clause” suggests that even a small fracture in comprehension can affect the whole structure of belief.
The tone remains restrained, yet the implication is severe, as though identity depends upon coherence of inward language. The speaker concludes with a stark image of existential deprivation. “Beggary” becomes a condition of being rather than a social state.
The loss described is not partial but total in inward effect, where existence continues but without spiritual fullness. The simplicity of the final phrase intensifies its meaning, leaving the impression of stripped interior life.
In other essays, I have noted that Dickinson often compresses entire states of existence into single concluding words that carry structural weight. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that when inner awareness of divine connection is obscured, life continues outwardly but loses its sustaining inner richness.
The speaker’s logic suggests that faith is not supplementary but foundational to inward coherence. The poem ends by presenting existence without faith as a condition of essential lack, where being remains but fullness and purpose are withdrawn.
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 “Going to Heaven!”
The speaker of “Going to Heaven!” muses on the certainty of heaven with equal measures of astonishment and earthly attachment, moving through three stanzas of tender, searching honesty.
Introduction and Text of “Going to Heaven!”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “Going to Heaven!” addresses an unnamed listener, confessing her astonishment at heaven’s inevitability while simultaneously expressing a glad reluctance to leave the Earth behind.
On the literal level, the poem is a musing on what the speaker does and does not know about dying and what follows. She knows heaven is coming; she does not know when or how, and that gap between certainty and comprehension is the poem’s central drama.
On my literary website, Linda’s Literary Home, I have argued that the concept of immortality was one of Dickinson’s deepest preoccupations throughout her creative life, a question she returned to with unfailing curiosity and spiritual seriousness.
The poem moves stanza by stanza from bewilderment, to communal longing, to a final and deeply personal grief held alongside gladness. The speaker never resolves the tension between loving the Earth and accepting heaven; she simply holds both, honestly and without apology. That honesty is what gives the poem its enduring emotional power.
Going to Heaven!
I don’t know when – Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished To think of answering you! Going to Heaven! How dim it sounds! And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the Shepherd’s arm!
Perhaps you’re going too! Who knows? If you should get there first Save just a little space for me Close to the two I lost – The smallest “Robe” will fit me And just a bit of “Crown” – For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home –
I’m glad I don’t believe it For it would stop my breath – And I’d like to look a little more At such a curious Earth! I’m glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty Autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.
Commentary on “Going to Heaven!”
The speaker’s musing enacts a spiritual journey moving from bewilderment through communal longing to grief and gladness held together in the same breath. Each stanza adds a new layer to the speaker’s understanding of what heaven means and what it will cost her.
First Stanza: What I Do Not Know
I don’t know when – Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished To think of answering you! Going to Heaven! How dim it sounds! And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the Shepherd’s arm!
The speaker opens by announcing plainly that she cannot answer her listener’s questions about when or how she will go to heaven, not because she doubts it, but because the fact of it leaves her too astonished to speak.
The exclamation “Going to Heaven!” is less a cry of joy than a gasp of disbelief that such a thing should be true. The speaker is not refusing to answer; she is genuinely overwhelmed.
She then makes a striking admission: heaven “sounds” dim to her, meaning the word itself feels thin and inadequate against the magnitude of what it names. This insight spring from a characteristically Dickinsonian observation—the language of religion, worn smooth by repetition, fails to convey the actual force of the reality it describes. The speaker senses the reality is immense; she simply cannot yet grasp it.
Yet the stanza closes in warmth and confidence, comparing the soul’s going to heaven to flocks returning to the shepherd’s arm at nightfall. Paramahansa Yogananda teaches, in his “On Understanding Death and Loss,” that death is not a catastrophe but a natural passage of the soul into greater freedom and divine awareness.
The speaker’s shepherd simile expresses exactly that understanding: going home is the soul’s most natural motion, as inevitable and as gentle as a lamb finding its shepherd at dusk.
Second Stanza: You, too, maybe!
Perhaps you’re going too! Who knows? If you should get there first Save just a little space for me Close to the two I lost – The smallest “Robe” will fit me And just a bit of “Crown” – For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home –
The speaker now turns to her listener with sudden warmth, wondering aloud whether that person, too, may be going to heaven. “Who knows?” she asks—a phrase of genuine spiritual humility, acknowledging that she cannot determine the soul’s schedule, her own or anyone else’s. The tone shifts from private astonishment to something communal and tender.
She then makes her most touching request: that a small space be saved for her near “the two I lost.” The term “two” points to specific, beloved persons already departed, whose identity the speaker keeps private but whose absence she carries openly.
The capitalized “Robe” and “Crown” gently deflate the grandeur traditionally associated with heavenly reward; the speaker asks for the smallest of each, expressing a humility that is as genuine as it is quietly playful.
The stanza closes by returning to the phrase “going home,” linking it directly to the shepherd simile of the first stanza and reinforcing the poem’s central conviction that death is not exile but return.
Paramahansa Yogananda’s teachings explain that the soul is a perfect reflection of God’s consciousness and that its passage beyond the physical plane is a homecoming to its Eternal Source.
The speaker’s easy dismissal of heavenly dress—“we do not mind our dress / When we are going home”—reflects that same priority: the reunion matters infinitely more than the clothing.
Third Stanza: Glad for not Believing
I’m glad I don’t believe it For it would stop my breath – And I’d like to look a little more At such a curious Earth! I’m glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty Autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.
The speaker now delivers the poem’s most surprising statement: she is glad she does not yet fully believe in her going to heaven, because that belief, fully realized, would stop her breath and take her from “such a curious Earth.”
She is not denying heaven; she is confessing that she still loves the Earth too much to be entirely ready to leave it. On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed Dickinson’s deep attentiveness to the natural world alongside her spiritual curiosity as a parallel devotion, neither canceling out the other.
The speaker then turns her gladness in a new direction: she is glad that “they did believe it”—those she has not seen since a mighty autumn afternoon when she left them in the ground.
That single phrase, “left them in the ground,” is the poem’s most direct and devastating moment, stripping away all metaphor to name the plain fact of burial. Their belief in heaven was their comfort in dying, and she honors it with a gladness that is inseparable from grief.
Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that souls who have departed dwell in expanded freedom and love, and that the bonds of deep spiritual friendship are not broken by death but simply suspended until reunion.
The speaker closes the poem holding two kinds of gladness at once —gladness to remain a little longer on the curious Earth, and gladness that those she loved and buried believed in the heaven toward which she, too, is inexorably going.
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 “The reticent volcano keeps”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “The reticent volcano keeps” is musing on the nature of silence and secrets, transforming metaphorically a volcano into a figure of thoughtful restraint. This idea creates a paradox that challenges the nature and purpose of human speech.
Introduction and Text of “The reticent volcano keeps”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “The reticent volcano keeps” is exploring the tense relationship between divine knowledge and human awareness by delving into nature’s ability to keep secrets as opposed to humanity’s driving need to speak out and to be heard by others.
The poem, thus, is ultimately a study in contrasts. The speaker concocts a parallel universe, in which the forces of nature adhere to perfect discretion as human beings often go off the rails by remaining loquacious and even indiscreet, as they engage loudly in mere gossip.
The metaphorical volcano becomes the speaker’s prime example of nature’s superior restraint. Unlike explosive human beings, this volcanic force has mastered the art of keeping secrets and thus holds its ever awake strategy in blissful silence.
The reticent volcano keeps
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan — Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man.
If nature will not tell the tale Jehovah told to her Can human nature not survive Without a listener?
Admonished by her buckled lips Let every babbler be The only secret people keep Is Immortality.
Commentary on “The reticent volcano keeps”
Emily Dickinson’s “The reticent volcano keeps” creates a speaker who comments on the nature of silence and secrets. The speaker employs a metaphor of a volcano to compare the ideas of restraint to the chatty nature of humanity, whose only secret “Is Immortality.”
First Stanza: The Volcano’s Secret
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan — Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man.
The speaker begins by metaphorically creating the image of a volcano that keeps secrets. There is almost a hint of personification of that geologic force, as it is described as “reticent” but capable of deliberately and consciously making the choice to keep its secrets.
By calling the volcano “reticent,” the speaker gives it a personality with intention. Thus the volcano becomes human-like with the ability to make choices. And its choice is to stay mum about its purpose for its activities.
The image of the “never slumbering plan” heralds forth a disturbing tension. On its surface, the volcano seems to remain dormant, yet beneath that quiet surface rumbles a permanent, definite intention.
According to this fantasized scenario, the volcano is not experiencing a passive rest but instead is engaging in the restraint of wide-awake watching. Thus the speaker is implying that actual power comes with restraint, not from revelation.
Stated another way: the volcano’s power lies in what it does not say, or what it refuses to reveal about its hidden activities. The volcano does not merely have a plan, but it also protects and preserves that plan from outside observation that would cause interference with its intentions.
The speaker is therefore presenting the volcano as a model of perfect prudence, a power that is capable of destroying the landscape yet chooses to keep its secrets. The speaker is implying that such choices are the result of self-control. And that kind of self-control is to be admired.
The speaker unveils minor details, labeling them “projects pink,” which suggest images of dawn, flowering blossoms, or a gently glowing fire. Still, the volcano reveals these intimate secrets to no one, definitely not to unreliable human beings.
The color “pink” brings an unexpected gentleness into the scenario of volcanic force. The speaker seems to be suggesting that even the most dramatic natural forces contain delicate qualities hidden from view.
The speaker portrays human beings as “precarious” because they remain basically unreliable and too fickle to be trusted with nature’s serious purposes. Human beings are deemed unworthy to be afforded information about nature’s activities.
So, the phrase “confided are” suggests that the volcano’s secrets exist in a state of trust. But such trust is not extended to humans, again because human beings have not proven themselves to be trustworthy.
The speaker has thus created a hierarchy of trustworthiness. The volcano is placed at the top of the spectrum and humanity at the bottom. The natural world, as opposed to the human world thus serves as the reliable retainer of divine secrets.
Second Stanza: Divine Silence
If nature will not tell the tale Jehovah told to her Can human nature not survive Without a listener?
The speaker then broadens her view beyond the volcanic keeper of secrets to encompass all of nature in this conspiracy of silence. The speaker suggests that God Himself has shared secrets with the natural world.
The phrase “the tale / Jehovah told to her” implies the intimate conversational relationship between Creator and creation. The speaker presents this scenario as a whispered confidence that remains eternally unbroken.
By employing the name “Jehovah,” the speaker invokes one of the most sacred names for God. This raises the conversation beyond casual exchange to profound holiness and therefore deserving of absolute attention.
In other words, the speaker is implying that nature serves as God’s confidante. Unlike the human being, who is supposed to be God’s most valuable and honored creation but has fallen short, the natural world has proven itself worthy of divine trust and continues to honor that sacred responsibility.
The term “tale” points to a narrative or story, most likely mythology. The speaker thus implies that God has shared His most profound stories of creation with nature, stories that remain hidden.
The speaker presents this divine sharing as a test of loyalty. Nature has passed the test by maintaining perfect silence, while humanity has failed time and again because of its compulsive need to speak.
At this point, the speaker poses the poem’s poignant question: If nature can keep divine secrets, why cannot human beings behave honorably, without constantly needing to speak and be heard?
The term “survive” suggests the strong need for listeners; it is not merely a preference but an existential need. The speaker thus implies that humans require witnesses to their thoughts to maintain their very existence.
Ultimately, the speaker is creating a sharp distinction between “nature” and “human nature.” Nature is capable of self-sufficient silence, while human nature has acquired the bad habit of constant verbal interaction just to function.
The question becomes philosophical as well as practical. The speaker wonders whether humanity’s need for an audience is weakness or simply part of its essential character as social beings.
The speaker implies that humanity’s inability to keep secrets stems from its fundamental need for connection. Human beings speak because they must be heard to feel that they are living.
The question rises to a note of near-pathetic bewilderment. The speaker remains genuinely baffled by humanity’s inability to match nature’s perfect discretion and self-contained silence.
Third Stanza: The Moral Lesson
Admonished by her buckled lips Let every babbler be The only secret people keep Is Immortality.
The speaker concludes with nature as an instructor of ethical and moral behavior. The image of nature’s “buckled lips,” clasped tightly, serves to castigate human compulsive loquaciousness.
The image of “buckled lips” is also mechanical as well as organic. The speaker suggests that while nature’s silence is instinctive, it is also deliberate, making it a disciplined choice.
The speaker chastises “every babbler,” shaming human beings for their inability to hold their tongues. Apparently, they cannot mirror the volcano’s patient discretion or even understand nature’s faithful, enduring silence.
The term “babbler” is especially damning, reducing human communication to meaningless chatter. Such constant talk lacks the dignity of nature’s meaningfully purposeful silence.
The speaker delivers the poem’s most devastating irony. The one secret that humans do manage to keep is “Immortality”—their silence about death and what lies beyond. This final revelation transforms the entire poem’s earlier criticisms.
In this final irony, the speaker both condemns and redeems humanity. Humans are babblers about everything except what matters most—their own eternal destiny and ultimate meaning.
But what does the speaker imply by claiming that humanity keeps secrets about Immortality? Merely the fact that most of humanity speaks and behaves without giving Immortality or what lies beyond the grave much thought.
The topic of “Immortality” is left up to poets, philosophers, and theologians. And although these groups have proffered tomes on the issue, their theories go largely unnoticed on the street.
The speaker would have talk about life beyond this life become more open to everyone. She seems to feel that the one secret that humanity continues to keep is the only one that truly matters.
She thus would have humanity keep some of its more chatty issues to itself, reorder its thinking, and begin producing volcanic force in conversations that would truly move the culture along to a more open sharing of eternal truths. But first, of course, she must try to influence humanity to take an interest in profundity instead of petty, chatty gossip.
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 “The Only News I know”
In “The Only News I know,” Emily Dickinson creates a speaker whooffers a glimpse at the poet’s satisfying daily existence. She demonstrates how she keeps her consciousness focused only on things of the Divine Realm, thus, avoiding those of the mundane, vulgar, physical existence.
Introduction with Text of “The Only News I know”
The reality of “the news” automatically holds all manner of things that have gone wrong during ordinary life. Accidents, illness, murders, robberies, war, deceit, political intrigue all figure in the news reports that come to one daily.
While these topics tend to agitate, confuse, and sadden most folks who listen to “the news,” seldom does anyone offer an antidote to lessen the pain, frustration, confusion brought about by the bad news reports that accost the citizenry daily.
Although Emily Dickinson’s poem, “The Only News I know,” is obviously an exaggeration, it, nevertheless, dramatizes the most important topics with which the poet likes to engage: immortality, eternity, and God. She likes to engage and occupy her thinking and musing with ethereal places and events. And this creative thinking easily replaces the mundane and vulgar events that daily hem one round.
The physical world is such a cold and often desolate place for sensitive individuals and once those individuals acquire some inkling of a different world, a spiritual level of existence, or an astral world, they prefer it.
They inquire, read, and study about the possibility of a place where the soul lives on after it leaves the gross physical encasement. Such a place offers the individual the opportunity to live more abundantly and completely without the trammels and trappings of earthly existence.
The thought of a “heaven” or an astral existence gives one hope that all the unseemly events reported in “the news” are only temporary and feature only a passing blight that the pure soul must put up with but only for a while. While the physical reality is only temporary, the soul’s reality is permanent.
Emily Dickinson’s “The Only News I Know” consists of four tercets, or three-line stanzas that examine the glorious possibility of living in a world of everlasting beauty, with an always blissful feeling, and ever-new joy.
Each tercet adheres to its own rime scheme: ABC, ABA, AAB, ABC. Each line displays six syllables, except for the final line in the final tercet, which yields only four syllables. The four-syllable line gives the poem an abruptness that further enhances the meaning of the content: the speaker makes her claims in crispness and ends with a snap.
The Only News I know
The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality.
The Only Shows I see – Tomorrow and Today – Perchance Eternity –
The Only One I meet Is God – The Only Street – Existence – This traversed
If Other News there be – Or Admirabler Show – I’ll tell it You –
Commentary on “The Only News I know”
In this poem, Emily Dickinson has created a speaker who reports brief glimpses of what it is like to create a satisfying daily existence. Instead of “bulletins” from news reports on daily misery, her bulletins come from a mystical place where only joy permeates the soul.
First Tercet: Focus on the Spiritual
The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality.
In the first stanza, the speaker asserts that the only information she recognizes is that which comes from “Immortality.” She claims that she receives brief news headlines during the whole day, implying that these brief reports come to her even as she is working.
This speaker is more interested in mystical, that is, spiritual awareness than she is in mundane earthly things. Thus she can easily space out the mundane and fill it with ethereal blessings.
Second Tercet: A Permanent Frame of Mind
The Only Shows I see – Tomorrow and Today – Perchance Eternity –
The speaker then avers that the only programs or performances she watches are those that pertain similarly to things and events that are everlastingly entertaining. She then implies that the time frame in which she experiences these blessings is permanent. She leaves open some doubt by inserting the term “[p]erchance” likely only for the sake of skeptical listeners.
It becomes clear that this speaker entertains no doubt about her claims regarding the landscape of the soul—those topics that obtain for “Immortality” and “Eternity.” She is not so naïve as to believe that in the physical world these qualities hold fast.
If that were so, she would have no need to report on such beyond-earth loci. She could go about simply revealing all the blessings she detects from earthly pleasures. But because earthly paradise remains out of possibility, she has to report about mystical places with figurative language, including colorful images and metaphors.
Third Tercet: God Alone
The Only One I meet Is God – The Only Street – Existence –This traversed
The speaker then reveals her startling claim, as Dickinson speakers are often wont to do: “The Only One I meet / Is God.” And instead of further drama or explication on meeting God, she rushes on mid-line to claim that the only path she travels is that of “Existence.” This “street” is the one that she “traverse[s]” freely.
Her interest focuses only on being. She leaves the idea of becoming to others. While she experiences this great eternal present of being, she remains in a state of blissful confidence.
Fourth Tercet: No Other News
If Other News there be – Or Admirabler Show – I’ll tell it You –
Then the speaker declares that if, in fact, she ever acquires any other significant information, she will let her listeners know about it. But her matter-of-fact declamations have made it quite clear that she does not expect such “Other News” to assail her consciousness.
She is aware that she is creating her own garden of verse into which she has the ability to place anything she wishes. In her garden of creation, she can remain in her mystical state of awareness, meeting only angels and other eternal beings.
Every flower, every bird, every blade of grass has become endowed with the grace of the Heavenly Father, the Ultimate Reality, the Divine Being that is God. The speaker’s dedication to such bliss becomes so full that she is urged to share her state with her audience, and she gladly complies with that urge.
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 Light exists in Spring”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “A Light exists in Spring” is striving to portray a certain kind of light that “exists [only] in Spring” or very near spring.
Introduction with Text of “A Light exists in Spring”
Emily Dickinson’s “A Light exists in Spring” features five quatrains with a somewhat erratic rime scheme. Each quatrain follows a fairly regular pattern of ABCB with the second quatrain offering the slant rime, “fields / feels,” and the third quatrain offering no rime at all.
The final quatrain again features an irregular pair of rimes, “Content / Sacrament.” The theme of the poem focuses on a special feeling that becomes engendered in the observer as she experiences a certain kind of light.
A Light exists in Spring
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period – When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay –
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
Commentary on “A Light exists in Spring”
Emily Dickinson has created a speaker in “A Light exists in Spring” who is musing upon and then striving to portray a certain kind of light that becomes visible only during the season of spring or, at least, very near that season of rebirth.
First Quatrain: A Particular Light
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here
The speaker asserts that this light may be experienced “in Spring,” and this particular light cannot be seen at any other time of the year. However, the speaker then reports that this light does appear just after the month of March has arrived.
This claim, therefore, suggests that the light might also appear just before the actual season of spring has arrived. The season of spring does not begin until the third week of March, not in early March, as the speaker seems to be suggesting.
Second Quatrain: Not Identified by Science
A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.
The speaker now claims that it is possible to observe a certain shade of color that has descended upon the “fields.” This extraordinary “color” apparently has not been identified in nature by science. However, human beings, according to this speaker, are capable of sensing this color without a name for or scientific description of it.
The speaker, therefore, hints that the color of this special light does not exist at all in nature, and it is perhaps only visible to the human soul—not the mind or even the heart—as such lights as rainbows or the aura borealis are visible to the human eye.
Third Quatrain: Unearthly, Perhaps Mystical
It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you.
This unearthly—perhaps even mystical—light with its special color may be experienced as it stands “upon the Lawn.” However, the light may also appear in trees that grow very far away and may also be gleaned from faraway, quite distant from the where the speaker views it. The speaker now reports that this strange mystical light may seem to converse with anyone, but its language would be one only known to the soul.
The speaker then strives to arouse in her listeners and readers an understanding that would be quite likely impossible to shape into words. The speaker has been carried to an indescribable place within her own soul.
This light that is capable of “wait[ing] upon the Lawn” but does not instantly pass across the lawn strongly suggests that it is capable of halting time for a short period—possibly to allow the observer to contemplate the nature of its existence.
Fourth Quatrain: As the Light Passes
Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay —
That time period which comes through experiencing that special light cannot wait long and thus “it passes.” Of course, the observer remains, that is, this speaker remains where she is while the light passes on.
The special light thus seems to resemble sunlight after it has passed overhead around the noon hour. Naturally, its final departure is without fanfare, although the speaker seems to have expected a sound, or some other sign to help her understand the strange feeling that this light has engendered in her.
Fifth Quatrain: An Inappropriate Intrusion
A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament.
The speaker then asserts that she feels a kind of deep loss. It is as if something drastically inappropriate has happened. The speaker expresses that painful inappropriateness as the same as finding of “Trade” intruding “Upon a Sacrament.” She feels as wronged as Jesus felt upon encountering the money changers in the temple.
Spiritual Clarity
In Emily Dickinson’s “A Light exists in Spring,” the speaker has made a valiant effort to describe the ineffable. Such a task is impossible, but it is possible to portray the feelings that this ineffable entity has engendered in the heart and mind of the individual observer of that indescribable entity.
Thus the speaker has remained vague about what this light looks like, but she has made it quite clear how it has made her feel, and that is her reason for creating this particular little drama.
The speaker’s experience viewing this special light has moved her very deeply. Although she cannot portray the light’s physical nature, she can suggest the nature of the way the light has influenced her mentally and spiritually.
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 “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
Emily Dickinson’s poem, “The Brain – is wider than the Sky,” compares and contrasts the human brain/mind with the sky, the sea, and God.
Introduction and Text of “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
The idea that a human being is made in the image of God was not first conceived by a poet; that claim is found in the ancient text of the Holy Bible, and both Eastern and Western religious philosophical texts expound principles that the image of the Divine Creator exists in the children that He has created.
Emily Dickinson possessed a great depth of knowledge of the King James Version of the Bible. Undoubtedly, as she composed this poem, she quite obviously kept in mind the following biblical claim from Genesis 1:26: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.”
Dickinson’s poem, “The Brain – is wider than the Sky,” offers a unique expression of understanding regarding the unity of the Godhead and humankind. Emily Dickinson’s mystical ability allowed her to understand many ideas and concepts about the ineffable levels of being.
She was, therefore, able to interpret and expound on those ideas and concepts. However, instead of showcasing her knowledge in treatises, she chose to create little dramas with her poems.
The Brain – is wider than the Sky
The Brain – is wider than the Sky – For – put them side by side – The one the other will contain With ease – and You – beside –
The Brain is deeper than the sea – For – hold them – Blue to Blue – The one the other will absorb – As Sponges – Buckets – do –
The Brain is just the weight of God – For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
Commentary on “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
Metaphorically referring to the mind as the “Brain,” Dickinson’s speaker offers the essential truth that the Supreme Creator fashioned human beings in His image.
First Stanza: Brain Power
The Brain – is wider than the Sky – For – put them side by side – The one the other will contain With ease – and You – beside –
The first stanza contrasts the brain/mind with the sky claiming that the brain is wider because it can think about the sky and at the same time can think about the person who is thinking about the sky, and it can perform this operation easily.
That the brain can hold the sky reveals that the “Brain” is, indeed, a metaphor for “mind.” It is the mind, after all that, entertains the thought that is labeled “sky.” And while the mind is thinking “sky,” it also has the marvelous ability to retain thoughts of “you,” the reader, listener, audience—whoever might be hearing this lyric.
It will also be noted that the mind—”Brain”—possesses the ability to range even farther than the sky because it is “wider.” The width of the sky is not known; it is unlimited, thus the “mind” is even beyond unlimited—it being “wider.”
Such a quality must give one pause as one considers the possibility of possessing an instrument that can range beyond the limits of visual acuity. And this speaker is offering many instances that give the reader pause for thought—in order words, to exercise that mighty Brain/mind.
Second Stanza: More Brain Power
The Brain is deeper than the sea – For – hold them – Blue to Blue – The one the other will absorb – As Sponges – Buckets – do –
The second stanza contrasts the brain with the sea asserting that the brain can take in the sea as a sponge sucks up a bucket of water, once again referencing the vast thinking ability of the brain/mind.
If sponges can absorb buckets of water, they must be very large sponges and/or very many of them. The speaker is asserting again a vastness that is unlimited, even as sponges sucking up buckets of water might be.
But because she does not say two buckets, four buckets, or more, being absorbed by twenty or forty sponges, she has again allowed an unlimited number of items to come to mind. As the sky is limitless, those sponges and buckets must remain limitless as well, if their metaphorical likeness to the brain/mind is to remain operative.
Third Stanza: The Ultimate Brain Power
The Brain is just the weight of God – For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
The third stanza contrasts but also compares the human brain to God. This stanza inflicts an interpretive difficulty; certain readers might mistakenly believe that the speaker is making a blasphemous assertion that the brain and God are the same. However, as elucidated in the following section, “God Is Not Limited,” such a claim is without merit.
God—the Unlimited
All devout believers contend that God is not limited by or to any one item of His creation. Almighty God—the Divine Belovèd and Father of All—is rightly considered to be vastly greater than all His creations taken together.
The human brain/mind thus is only one of God’s many creations, so to claim that “The Brain is just the weight of God” may at first without due reflection seem as if the speaker means that they are equal.
However, the blasphemy charge can be denied with a closer look at what the poem actually does, especially in the last three lines of the last stanza:
For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
The speaker does not claim that the brain/mind and God are the exact same; she is concluding that the brain/mind and God are similar because of their vastness which she has demonstrated in her contrasts with the sky and sea.
The sky and the sea are massive—virtually cosmic in their proportions to other earthy creations—yet the brain/mind can conceive of them as ideas, which means that the brain/mind can hold them–that is, it can hold the ideas of those enormous entities.
As the speaker makes her claim that the brain/mind and God are close in essence, she expresses the reality that they do differ–they differ one from the other as a “syllable” differs from a “sound.” That difference is a solid one because there is a definite difference between a syllable and a sound.
The sense of the term “if”—in “if they do”—then becomes more accurately interpreted as “since” or “because.” She is offering the actual difference which negates the dual property of “if.”
However, because the aim of her speculation is to celebrate the significance as well as vastness of the brain/mind’s capabilities, the speaker avers that the brain/mind and God are similar. After all, it is the brain/mind that conceives the notion of God.
Still, God remains greater than the brain/mind because while the brain/mind is a “syllable,” God is “sound”; thus, the brain/mind becomes a perceivable symbolic representation of the ineffable God, as a syllable is a representation of sound. The difference is real, and ultimately, it is immeasurably more vast than the sky and ocean.
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