841.1864.Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning —
Lightning — lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.
Maimed — was I — yet not by Venture —
Stone of stolid Boy —
Nor a Sportsman’s Peradventure —
Who mine Enemy?
Robbed — was I — intact to Bandit —
All my Mansion torn —
Sun — withdrawn to Recognition —
Furthest shining — done —
Yet was not the foe — of any —
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest Orchard dwelling
Be of Me — afraid.
Most — I love the Cause that slew Me.
Often as I die
Its beloved Recognition
Holds a Sun on Me —
Best — at Setting — as is Nature’s —
Neither witnessed Rise
Till the infinite Aurora
In the other’s eyes.
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My biographical interpretation of ‘Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning’ {F841}, stanza by stanza:
- When Wadsworth arrived at my front door on that glorious late summer day in 1860, I had not yet been struck by lightning. Lightning warns us of its power to kill.
- Nor had I been maimed by a stone a boy threw, nor by a sportsman’s rifle. I did not know I had an enemy.
- I was robbed that day. I was whole when Wadsworth came and, when he left, my mansion’s veil was torn. The Sun vanished from my life, and I no longer enjoyed nature as I did before.
- Before he came, I was not the foe of any creature. Not even the smallest bird living in our orchard was afraid of me.
- And the strangest thing is that I still love Wadsworth, even though he seduced me. I die of shame each day that passes, but at the same time his recognition of me is the Sun of my life.
- Just as a sunset is most inspiring as the Sun sinks behind the horizon, the best part of our summer day was as he was leaving. Neither spoke, but we peered deep into each other’s eyes and saw an infinite sunrise. Then he caught the late train back to Northampton where his good friend and college roommate, James D. Clark, was hosting Wadsworth.
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The remainder of this post is a mixture of ED’s letters and poems plus my speculation, as told by ED herself:
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Now that I’ve been dead for 140 years {May 15, 1886 – May 15, 2026}, I would like to tell you the story of how my seduction happened, poem by poem and letter by letter. My comments are in {curly brackets}:
F1.1850.Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!
Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. 10
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. 20
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? 30
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower —
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum —
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home! 40
I was born December 10, 1830 and was a normal teenage girl of 19 when I wrote this 1850 Valentine poem that my group of close friends gave to my father’s junior law partner, Elbridge Bowdoin. He was a bachelor in his mid-20s and he never married. When he died in 1893, he still had this Valentine poem in his desk.
I named the members of my group in Lines 31-32: “There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, / And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!”. You can easily guess who “she of curling hair” is. My hair is a gorgeous curly auburn. The girls, all former classmates of mine at Amherst Academy, were normal boy-crazy 20-year-olds. Susan Gilbert and I had known each other since 1847 when Sue, recently orphaned, moved to Amherst to live with her older sister and her husband.
Susan was born 10 days after I was {20 December 1830}. She was my sister-in-law, lifelong listener, poetry critic, first love, and, most importantly, my poetry muse. She lived 100 yards west of my family’s “Homestead”, in a new house my father built as a wedding present for my brother, Austin, and Sue. They named their new home “The Evergreens”.
Between 1850 and my death in 1886, I sent Sue more than 250 poems. She shared my intellectual and emotional life and was my main editor. I also sent her many intimate and passionate letters. We were lesbian partners until 1853 when Austin asked Sue to be his wife. Before that, Sue and I enjoyed many orgasms during our love making and, in ‘Title divine, is mine’, I called them “the swoon God gives us women” {F194, 1861}. Despite our lesbian fingerings of each other, I was technically still a virgin, my hymen intact. This fact is important to my story, as you will see.
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194.1861.Title divine, is mine
Title divine, is mine.
The Wife without the Sign –
Acute Degree conferred on me –
Empress of Calvary –
Royal, all but the Crown –
Betrothed, without the Swoon
God gives us Women –
When You hold Garnet to Garnet –
Gold – to Gold –
Born – Bridalled – Shrouded –
In a Day –
Tri Victory –
“My Husband” – Women say –
Stroking the Melody –
Is this – the way –
For a year or two after Wadsworth’s 1860 visit and my seduction, I was on cloud nine. For example, in 1861 I composed ‘Title divine, is mine’ {F194}. Calvary Presbyterian was the name of the San Francisco church that Reverend Wadsworth ministered from 1862-1869, so I gave him the code name “Calvary” in the poem. I never used his real name in a poem or letter because of the harm it might cause his marriage and career if the letter were intercepted and circulated publicly.
I felt that I was his wife except for the “Acute Degree” of “Mrs.” because he told me we could meet and marry in Heaven. In my flights of fancy, I thought of myself as the “Empress of Calvary”. I also felt that our sexual consummation in 1860 was a betrothal between us even though I did not experience a swoon. He didn’t give me a garnet or gold ring, but I felt that I was “Born – Bridalled – Shrouded – / In a Day – / Tri Victory –”. Most women would call their spouse “My Husband” and love the sound of saying it, but I wonder if this is the way for me.
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Draft Master Letter 2 1861.
My alternate words and phrases are in {curly brackets} in my draft:
In 1861, after our “visit” the previous summer, I sent a letter to Wadsworth. It was my second “Master” letter. Here are some excerpts:
Paragraph 2
“I am older – tonight, Master – but the love is the same – so are the moon and the crescent. If it had been God’s will that I might breathe where you breathed – and the place – myself – at night if I {can} never forget that I am not with you – and that sorrow and frost are nearer than I – if I wish with a might I cannot repress – that mine were the Queen’s place – the love of the Plantagenet is my only apology –
Paragraphs 6 – 7
“I want to see you more – Sir – than all I wish for in this world and the wish – altered a little – will be my only one – for the skies. Could you come to New England – {this summer – could} would you come to Amherst – Would you like to come – Master?
“{Would it do harm – yet we both fear God – } Would Daisy disappoint you – no – she would’nt – Sir – it were comfort forever – just to look in your face, while you looked in mine – then I could play in the woods till Dark – till you take me where Sundown cannot find us – and the true keep coming – till the town is full. {Will you tell me if you will?}”
I called Wadsworth “Plantagenet” because it sounded like an Emperor, and Philadelphia is not in New England. Also, the place “where Sundown cannot find us – and the true keep coming – till the town is full. {Will you tell me if you will?}”
Obviously, in 1861 I was not bitter about Wadsworth’s seduction. In fact, on that summer day in 1860, after we had talked for two hours in the parlor and eaten dinner, dusk was coming on. I suggested we take a walk in our orchard. I know that at that moment I loved him more than ever, and I intentionally left Carlo at home {Line 17, F274, 1862}, something I never do when I walk alone. I had a vague idea that something might happen, and it did:
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274.1862.Again – his voice is at the door –
Again – his voice is at the door –
I feel the old Degree –
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one – as me –
I take a flower – as I go –
My face to justify –
He never saw me – in this life –
I might surprise his eye!
I cross the Hall with mingled steps –
I – silent – pass the door –
I look on all this world contains –
Just his face – nothing more!
We talk in careless – and in toss –
A kind of plummet strain –
Each – sounding – shyly –
Just – how – deep –
The other’s one – had been –
We walk – I leave my Dog – at home –
A tender – thoughtful Moon –
Goes with us – just a little way –
And – then – we are alone –
Alone – if Angels are “alone” –
First time they try the sky!
Alone – if those “veiled faces” – be –
We cannot count –
On High!
I’d give – to live that hour – again –
The purple – in my Vein –
But He must count the drops – himself –
My price for every stain!
This poem is a description of what we did that summer day in 1860. It was the second time I had heard his voice; the first was Sunday March 4, 1855, when I heard him deliver a sermon at his church in Philadelphia. His voice was a deep bass and unforgettable.
In her 1924 biography of me, my niece, Martha Dickinson Bianci, accurately claimed that :
“Certainly in that first witchery of an undreamed Southern springtime Emily was overtaken – doomed once and forever by her own heart. It was instantaneous, overwhelming, impossible.” {Bianci 1924. The Life and Letters of Emily Dickinson}.
Philadelphia is 250 miles south of Amherst, and, to someone who grew up in Amherst as I did, March in Philadelphia is “Southern springtime”. I know that many of my 20th century biographers consider my niece’s memories unreliable, but she was right about Wadsworth and my 1855 “witchery”.
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325.1862.There came a Day—at Summer’s full,
There came a Day—at Summer’s full,
Entirely for me—
I thought that such—were for the Saints—
Where Resurrections—be—
The Sun—as common—went abroad—
The flowers—accustomed—blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed—
That maketh all things new.
The time was scarce profaned—by speech—
The symbol of a word
Was needless—as at Sacrament—
The Wardrobe—of our Lord—
Each was to each—the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this—time—
Lest we too awkward show—
At “Supper of the Lamb.”
The Hours slid fast—as Hours will—
Clutched tight—by greedy hands—
So—faces on two Decks—look back—
Bound to opposing Lands—
And so when all the time had failed—
Without external sound—
Each—bound the other’s Crucifix—
We gave no other Bond—
Sufficient troth—that we shall rise—
Deposed—at length—the Grave—
To that new Marriage—
Justified—through Calvaries of Love!
In my letter to Wadsworth in spring 1858 (JL187, Master Letter 1), I had told him “Each Sabbath on the Sea, makes me count the Sabbaths, till we meet on shore.” Finally, in late Summer 1860, he did come to visit me for an afternoon. He wasn’t stern like my father and seemed to care for me as a friend. It was a beautiful afternoon that I will always remember. I was deeply in love with him and even called him “Master”. That was the day he seduced me.
We walked together in our orchard, and when we were in a secluded spot, he suggested we sit down. There, “he seemed almost overpowered by a spasm of gloom. I said, “You are troubled”. Shivering as he spoke, “My Life is full of dark secrets,” he said. He never spoke of himself, and encroachment I know would have slain him.” (JL776 to James D. Clark, late 1882):
I felt sorrow for his pain and tried to sooth him. Little did I know that what he said was part of his plan was to gain my sympathy and trust. As I said in my draft of Master Letter 2 {1861}, he told me that we could meet and marry in Heaven:
“I could play in the woods till Dark – till you take me where Sundown cannot find us – and the true keep coming – till the town is full. {Will you tell me if you will?}”.
I believed him {Stanza 7, F325, January 1882}. He succeeded in seducing me, and that evening we parted silently, speaking only with love in our eyes. {Stanza 6, F841 above, 1864}.
Or so I thought.
Now I think he took the train back to Philadelphia, satisfied that he had accomplished his mission. I suspect he had used those lines on many a troubled female who came to him for counselling. I also suspect that was the real reason he had to leave Philadelphia and move to San Francisco in 1862. He was a superstar minister and when his “secrets” became common knowledge, he had to leave town. Yet, despite knowing he took advantage of my naïveté, I still love him and will continue loving him until I die:
“In a intimacy of many years with the beloved Clergyman, I have never before spoken with one who knew him, and his Life was so shy and his tastes so unknown, that grief for him seems almost unshared.
“He was my Shepherd from “Little Girl”hood and I cannot conjecture a world without him, so noble was he always – so fathomless – so gentle”. (JL766 to James D Clark, August 1882).
James Clark was Wadsworth’s seminary roommate and close friend. Clark lived in Northampton, MA, only 12 miles SW of Amherst by train, and the train station was only one block east of my house.