763.1863.I had no time to Hate

I had no time to Hate –
Because
The Grave would hinder me –
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish – Enmity -;

Nor had I time to Love –
But since
Some Industry must be –
The little Toil of Love –
I thought
Be large enough for Me –

‘I had no time to Hate’ seems a strange poem. ED was 32, past her prime, prone to illness, and slim prospects of reaching three score and ten. The two human loves of her life had failed: intimacy with Sue was just a memory, and Wadsworth had moved to San Francisco.

Stanza 1 leaves us hopeful because she knew life was too short for hate or enmity. Suddenly, in Stanza 2, ED switched gears. She realized her feelings for Rev. Wadsworth were not real “Love”: “Nor had I time to Love -”. What she truly loves is poetry, her “little Toil of Love -”.

This poem, ‘763.1863.I had no time to Hate’, reminds me of Stanza 2, F602:

“When Choice of Life — is past —
There yet remains a Love
Its little Fate to stipulate —
How small in those who live —”

For ED, death happened twice, first on May 1, 1862, when Rev. Charles Wadsworth embarked from New York harbor, bound for San Francisco. ED tells us her “little Fate” 161 poems later:

F763, Stanza’s 1 & 2

“I had no time to Hate— //
Nor had I time to Love—
But since
Some Industry must be—
The little Toil of Love—
I thought
Be large enough for Me—”

ED’s “little Toil of Love”, her “little Fate”, was composing 1026 more poems before her second death, on May 15, 1886.

ED has convinced me that virtually all of her poems have two or more levels of meaning: poetic and historical. These levels cannot be separated into two ivory towers, as most academics do.

The reason for her instant and continuing public adulation (1890 – present) was and is, by far, poetic. She is one of the “Greats” that she always dreamed to be, despite her lifelong refusal to publish. That refusal freed her from criticism and allowed her to explore the outer boundaries of poetic power.

Her refusal to publish was only possible because of the lifelong financial and daily social/housekeeping support of her family, especially her father and sister, respectively. Throughout her life, the Dickinsons hired servants, first Negro and later Irish, some of whom became much more than housekeepers for ED.

My point is that love of ED’s poems can be enriched by understanding both poetic and historical levels of her sound and sense. We impoverish ourselves if we ignore their historical foundations.

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