Linda's Literary Home

Tag: riddle poems

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    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 haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” reveals the speaker’s profound confrontation with the impending transition of death. She is envisioning a quiet departure from the physical plane, utilizing her beloved natural surroundings to dramatize the hesitation of breaking this ultimate news to her terrestrial companions.

    Introduction and Text of “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” is an American-Innovative ballad composed of four quatrains. Each stanza utilizes short, rhythmic lines alternating between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter, tied together by near or slant rimes.

    This brief drama functions to showcase the tension between the physical world of senses and the inevitable transition into the metaphysical realm. The speaker of the poem contemplates her looming departure while striving to keep the truth hidden from her earthly friends.

    By maintaining this absolute silence, she seeks to spare the natural world, such as her beloved garden and the hillsides, from the sorrow of her absence. On a second note, she is also inviting her readers to ponder the great mystery of where the soul journeys after the physical shell is cast aside.

    On the literal level, the poet is creating a speaker who is announcing her inability to break the news of her mortality to her immediate surroundings. It will be such a quiet transition that she desires no public display or open acknowledgment of her passing.

    Because she holds a deep affection for nature, she worries that sharing her secret will conquer her remaining emotional strength. Thus, she decides that her impending departure must remain a hidden secret, unspoken among her companions and the fields she has traversed.

    Posing as a quiet meditation on mortality, Dickinson’s little drama serves as a riddle regarding the boundary between life and death. By keeping her plans hidden from the natural world, she emphasizes the ultimate solitude of the soul’s transition.

    I haven’t told my garden yet

    I haven’t told my garden yet –
    Lest that should conquer me.
    I haven’t quite the strength now
    To break it to the Bee –

    I will not name it in the street
    For shops would stare at me –
    That one so shy – so ignorant
    Should have the face to die.

    The hillsides must not know it –
    Where I have rambled so –
    Nor tell the loving forests
    The day that I shall go –

    Nor lisp it at the table –
    Nor heedless by the way
    Hint that within the Riddle
    One will walk today –

    Reading of “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Commentary on “I haven’t told my garden yet”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I haven’t told my garden yet” reveals an attitude of deep devotion to nature and a profound hesitation to disrupt its peace with the heavy reality of physical mortality.

    The poem is a literal contemplation of death, where the speaker is erecting a barrier of silence to protect her beloved earthly companions from the grief of her departure.

    First Stanza:  Hesitating to Report

    I haven’t told my garden yet –
    Lest that should conquer me.
    I haven’t quite the strength now
    To break it to the Bee –

    In the first quatrain, the speaker begins by alerting readers that she has kept her impending departure completely hidden from her closest companion, her “garden.” To vocalize this transition would overcome her fragile emotional state and deplete her remaining determination.

    The garden and the bee represent the living, vibrant physical plane of existence that the speaker is preparing to leave behind. She confesses that she lacks the personal fortitude to deliver such heavy news to the busy “Bee” that frequents her blossoms.

    This hesitation highlights the speaker’s delicate sensitivity to the beautiful life forms around her. She fears that acknowledging her departure openly would dismantle her quiet resolve.

    Behind her reluctance lies a deep understanding of the transition of the soul. As explained in the teachings on “Understanding Death and Loss” by Paramahansa Yogananda, “the body is only a garment,” and death is merely a “temporary emancipation” where the soul returns to its native home.

    Second Stanza:  Refusing to Alert

    I will not name it in the street
    For shops would stare at me –
    That one so shy – so ignorant
    Should have the face to die.

    The speaker then turns her gaze toward human society, declaring that she will not speak of her death in the public sphere. She envisions the local merchants and shopkeepers staring in absolute disbelief at her audacity.

    The public would find it unfathomable that a person so incredibly “shy” and “ignorant” of the grand ways of the world could possess the boldness to face death. This social commentary highlights the speaker’s preference for the quiet, solitary realm of nature over the bustling skepticism of human commerce.

    She remains deeply private, choosing to shield her sacred transition from the judgmental eyes of the town. Her ultimate journey is not a matter for public gossip or superficial curiosity.

    This choice to withdraw from the public eye mimics the lifestyle of a contemplative seeker who is focused entirely on the internal spirit. On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I note that the poet “lived a solitary life that in many ways paralleled that of a religious monastic,” choosing quiet contemplation over societal interaction.

    Third Stanza:  Keeping It Hush Hush

    The hillsides must not know it –
    Where I have rambled so –
    Nor tell the loving forests
    The day that I shall go –

    The speaker now directs her attention back to the natural landscape, asserting that the familiar “hillsides” must remain completely unaware of her departure. These are the beautiful places where she has spent countless hours walking and meditating in quiet joy.

    She also insists on keeping the secret from the “loving forests” that have provided her with shade and inspiration throughout her life. She cannot bear to cast a shadow of grief over these natural sanctuaries.

    By sparing the hills and forests from the date of her exit, she preserves the untouched joy of those spaces. She desires that her memory remain woven into their eternal beauty without the stain of physical decay.

    This deep communion with nature reflects a realization of the divine presence within the created universe. Her relationship with the “loving forests” mirrors the pantheistic devotion where every tree, leaf, and hillside is recognized as a living expression of the Divine Mother.

    Fourth Stanza: The Riming Riddle Will Out

    Nor lisp it at the table –
    Nor heedless by the way
    Hint that within the Riddle
    One will walk today –

    In the final stanza, the speaker reinforces her vow of absolute secrecy, forbidding herself from whispering the truth at the family dining table. She must not accidentally drop any careless hints to passersby along the road.

    The ultimate destination of her journey is described as “the Riddle,” a capitalized mystery into which she will walk before the day is done. This riddle is the metaphysical realm, the unseen world that lies just beyond the reach of human sensory perception.

    She steps into this grand unknown with quiet dignity, leaving her earthly companions to continue their physical cycles undisturbed. Her departure is a silent transition, a gentle slip from the physical plane into the cosmic consciousness.

    This transition into the “Riddle” is not a descent into destruction, but an entry into a higher state of awareness. As Paramahansa Yogananda teaches, the soul at death experiences a “joyous sense of relief and freedom,” realizing its eternal nature as it reunites with the infinite light of the Creator.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I robbed the Woods”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    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.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I like to see it lap the Miles”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    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’s “It sifts from Leaden Sieves”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet https://www.amherst.edu/library/archives/holdings/edickinson

    Emily Dickinson’s “It sifts from Leaden Sieves”

    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.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Adrift!  A little boat adrift!”

    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 “Adrift!  A little boat adrift!”

    In Emily Dickinson’s skilled employment of paradox and metaphor in her poem “Adrift!  A little boat adrift!,” the speaker offers a complex drama played out seemingly on an earthly ocean but actually performed on the mystical sea, where life remains immortal and eternal.

    Introduction and Text of “Adrift! A little boat adrift!”

    Emily Dickinson enjoyed the riddle essence of poetry.  She often employed that riddle essence in which she implies or directly asks a question.  Other times, she simply offers her rather detailed description and allows the reader to answer.  In this little drama, she elides the physical universe with the spiritual universe.  

    Metaphorically comparing the human being to a “little boat” floating without a guide on the sea of life, she deliberately sinks that boat before resurrecting that drowned life through the agency of the human soul, which cannot be drowned but which possesses all the power of its Creator to demolish all human suffering.

    Adrift! A little boat adrift!

    Adrift! A little boat adrift!
    And night is coming down!
    Will no one guide a little boat
    Unto the nearest town?

    So Sailors say – on yesterday –
    Just as the dusk was brown
    One little boat gave up its strife
    And gurgled down and down.

    So angels say – on yesterday –
    Just as the dawn was red
    One little boat – o’erspent with gales –
    Retrimmed its masts – redecked its sails –
    And shot – exultant on!

    Commentary on “Adrift! A little boat adrift!”

    This little drama offers a useful example of Dickinson’s most intense style, featuring her use of the riddle and her mystic appraisal of the human mind and heart, influenced by the human soul, whose guidance may seem rudderless, until that guidance becomes crucial.

    First Stanza:  Report of Danger

    Adrift! A little boat adrift!
    And night is coming down!
    Will no one guide a little boat
    Unto the nearest town?

    The speaker begins with an exclamation revealing that danger is on the horizon in the form of a small watercraft floating about unguided by a knowing pilot.  Such a situation alerts the reader/listener that all sorts of calamity could ensue. 

    To make matters worse, nightfall is fast approaching.  An unguided vessel drifting into the nighttime brings down a veil of fright and concern.  Again the speaker is exclaiming for again she places the exclamation mark at the end of her brief outcry!

    The speaker then cries for assistance for the little drifting sea craft, but instead of a command, she frames the cry as a question with a negative emphasis, “[w]ill no one . . . ?”  She demonstrates that she suspects there is no one who will chaperone and usher this little vessel to a safe harbor, such as to “the nearest town.”

    The painful negativity suggested by the speaker early on in her little drama foreshadows the ultimate outcome in her conclusion.  She alerts her listeners that a likely catastrophe is on the horizon.  

    But truly alert readers/listeners will suspend judgment until the conclusion is revealed, for Emily Dickinson can be as tricky as any poet writing.  She can out-trick Robert Frost by miles and miles. 

    Second Stanza:  Disaster

    So Sailors say – on yesterday –
    Just as the dusk was brown
    One little boat gave up its strife
    And gurgled down and down.

    The speaker continues her report of the disastrous fate of this “little boat.”  It has been reported by “Sailors,” those who would know, that this little sea vessel that so valiantly struggled nevertheless gave up the ghost and let the sea take it down into its depths.

    The time of this sinking was dusk when the color of sunset spread its brown, saddening haze upon the land and sea.  The sailors have reported that the vessel simply “gave up” because it could not overcome its “strife.”  

    It gave up its life, its cargo, all that was precious within it.  It gave up and then went down with gurgling sounds–the sound of a living throat taking on water that will ultimately drown it.

    The speaker has created a scenario of such pain and suffering that can only be assuaged with extraordinary finesse.  The sinking of a little boat remains a sorrowful image, and the speaker has seared that painful image into the inner sight of her listeners/readers.  She has dramatized the events surrounding that image in such a way as to heighten the pain and anguish experienced by her audience.

    Third Stanza:  Safety at Last

    So angels say – on yesterday –
    Just as the dawn was red
    One little boat – o’erspent with gales –
    Retrimmed its masts – redecked its sails –
    And shot – exultant on!

    Finally, the speaker quickly pulls the readers/listeners minds from the earthly tragedy on the physical level of existence on which the sinking of a sea craft causes pain and suffering.  Despite what the “Sailors” have reported, there is another report by higher beings that will impart a different engagement, a different outcome of this earthly event.

    Now, the report is brought by “angels.”  The higher, mystical beings are reporting that this event happened the same day as the earthly report “yesterday.”  But the time was early morning when “dawn was red,” setting up a dichotomy from yesterday when “dusk was brown.”

    Instead of merely going down “gurgl[ing],” this little vessel when faced with ferocious “gales,” fought valiantly:  it transformed itself by reshaping it “masts” and reinstalling stronger and better sea-worthy “sails.”  

    And after it completed those repairs, it sped past all earthy danger and triumphantly entered into the realm of mystic life (Christians call it “Heaven”) where no water can drown, no storm can toss, and no pain and suffering can stifle.

    Paradox and Metaphor

    Upon first encounter, the reader will detect what seems to be a contradiction or impossibility because of a reversal of two time periods.  In the second stanza, it is reported that the little boat sank yesterday at “dusk.”  But then in the third stanza, it is reported that the little boat encountered its difficulty yesterday at “dawn.”  

    The resolution of this paradox is accomplished through the realization that on the spiritual, mystical level of being, time remains eminently malleable.  At the time the “little boat” experienced it difficulty, it realized its immortal, eternal aspect.

    It became aware that it is, in fact, a spark of the Eternal, and therefore nothing can harm it.  It realized that stature at dawn, thus by the time dusk had arrived to take its physical form, its mystic/spiritual form–or soul–had moved on.

    This poem may be considered one of Emily Dickinson’s riddle poems. Although it does not seem to call for answering a riddle question, readers cannot fail to grasp that the “little boat” is a metaphor for a human being. 

    This metaphor becomes obvious, however, only after the angels offer their report.  The “little boat” then is revealed to possess the human ability to realize its special power, its mystical spark, and its ability to transcend earthly trials and tribulations.