EMILY DICKINSON by Jack Kerouac
yesindeedemilydickinson:
Ere so sober Emily
Did New England sow
With brooms of activity
I’d the tree-rock spoken to.
But it only said to me
“This sleet’s crack
You hear cracking my hide
Is the voice of olden poets
Not far from rocks of here
Did their olden eyes
On nature bestow blue
—” I said
“Ah Oh How So Sad.”
I said—”And graves?”
And I said “Darling
Supposing it should
To nature
Suddenly Occur
To make unending poets
Unendingly Blow”
Nature Said: “Mean,
I dont know what you
Mean”—
“Ah Nature, Ah Rock,”
I cried, “Nobody’s Bone
Has so suffusèd been,
No burden of boredom
Greater
No love colder
No love life less
No grave nearer
Always
Than Ye Bard”
