Month: October 2025

To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that—
A Compound manner,
As a Sod
Espoused a Violet,
That chiefer to the Skies
Than to himself, allied,
Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust,
And half of Day, the Bride.

“There are two copies, about 1864 and 1865. The earlier one, addressed “Mrs Gertrude,” was sent to Gertrude Lefferts Vanderbilt about September 1864. Wounded on 20 March 1864 by her maid’s rejected suitor, she had not been expected to survive. In September, when Susan Dickinson was able to write of Vanderbilt’s recovery, ED responded: “I am glad Mrs – Gertrude lived – I believed she would – Those that are worthy of Life are of Miracle, for Life is Miracle, and Death, as harmless as a Bee, except to those who run -” (Franklin 1998 Work Metadata)

“That” is one weird get-well poem.

I wonder whether Mrs. Vanderbilt had any inkling of ED’s intent, any vague idea this poem had anything to do with her being shot by an irate rejected suitor of her maid or her recovery from said shot.

Weird. Only Emily.

Soto! Explore thyself!
Therein thyself shalt find
The “Undiscovered Continent”—
No Settler, had the Mind.

We have three variants of this poem in ED’s handwriting.

About 1864, ED sent Variant A to Austin as a letter with a comma after “Mind” and her signature immediately following the comma. I think the comma at the end of this variant is simply the traditional way to close a letter, with a comma followed by a signature, e.g., “Cheers, Emily”.

Apparently, ED sent or intended to send Variant B to someone else because it also has a comma immediately after “Mind” and is signed.

Variant C is obviously for retention because it is on a page with another poem, has a period immediately after “Mind”, and is not signed.

Emily and Austin were close siblings, apparently even in matters sexual. On the evening of March 23, 1853, Susan Gilbert, Austin’s future wife, returning from a visit with a relative in Manchester, NH, spent the night with Austin at the Revere Hotel in Boston. Susan returned to Amherst on March 24 and soon told ED about her night with Austin. On March 27, ED wrote Austin a letter full of banter and hints, including the sentence, “Hope you have enjoyed the Sabbath, and sanctuary privileges – it isn’t all young men that have the preached word –“

Unfortunately, Austin’s marriage was not a bed of roses, and I suspect ‘Soto! Explore thyself!’ (F814) was ED’s answer to Austin’s marital complaints. Apparently, Austin endured his marriage until 1881 when he met Mabel Todd, wife of a new astronomer/professor at Amherst C0llege. David Todd was a womanizer who obliged his wife equal privileges.

In 1883, Austin and Mabel began a sexual relationship that lasted until his death in 1895. Both Austin and Mabel crassly kept count of their consummations in their diaries with a code, XXXX. Much to ED and Vinnie‘s chagrin, they frequently trysted at Homestead, which ED’s grandfather, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, built in 1813 and Austin, the male family heir, owned. Susan, living 100 yards away across a meadow, was aware of everything and not happy about it.

 

How well I knew Her not
Whom not to know has been
A Bounty in prospective, now
Next Door to mine the Pain.

Miller (2024) tells us ED sent this poem to Maria Whitney, about February 11, 1864. Austin visited Whitney in Northampton on February 11 before she sailed for California on the 13^th to look after the six children of her sister, Elizabeth Whitney Putnam, who died June 1863 in San Francisco.

I think the personal level of Fr813 runs deep, especially enjambed Lines 3 & 4: “now / Next Door to mine the Pain”. In her own way, ED empathizes with Maria’s loss of a sister because she has also lost a sister. In fact, ED’s “dead sister” lives “Next Door”, which daily “mine[s] the Pain”.

In March 1853 Susan and Austin became engaged after a tryst at the Revere Hotel in Boston. For obvious reasons, Sue had to cool her relationship with Emily, and on April 1, 1854, ED responded sharply to Sue (L172): “You can go or stay”.

In late 1858, perhaps as a birthday greeting on Sue’s birthday, 19 December, ED tried to mend bridges with ‘One Sister have I’ (Fr5, 1858), but the rift never healed.

“One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There’s only one recorded,
But both belong to me.

One came the road that I came —
And wore my last year’s gown —
The other, as a bird her nest,
Builded our hearts among.

She did not sing as we did —
It was a different tune —
Herself to her a music
As Bumble bee of June.

Today is far from Childhood —
But up and down the hills
I held her hand the tighter —
Which shortened all the miles —

And still her hum
The years among,
Deceives the Butterfly;
Still in her Eye
The Violets lie
Mouldered this many May.

I spilt the dew —
But took the morn —
I chose this single star
From out the wide night’s numbers —
Sue – forevermore!

Those last two stanzas are among the most poignant ED ever wrote. She “spilt the dew” and has been ruing it for 10 years (1854-1864).

Miller, C and Mitchell, D. 2024. The Letters of Emily Dickinson. Harvard University Press. Kindle Edition.

 

Love reckons by itself—alone
“As large as I”—relate the Sun
To One who never felt it blaze—
Itself is all the like it has—

I feel the aloneness of the speaker. The poem is I-oriented, not we-oriented. Knowing ED’s preference for isolation in her bedroom and her inclination for self-absorption, Lines 3 and 4 seem pseudo-wise words based on limited personal experience.

This poem tracks with a few other poems in Fascicle 35 in which Dickinson wonders why an unnamed friend is withholding their smile.” Both her premier biographer, Sewall (1974), and an insightful Ph.D. student, Murray (1988), commented on ED feeling rejected:

Sewall (1974), ED’s premier biographer, put it bluntly:

“[ED’s] failures, certainly, were with people. Throughout her life, she never achieved a single, wholly satisfying relationship with anybody she had to be near, or with, for any length of time. Vinnie was the closest, perhaps; but even she spoke of her family as living together like “friendly and absolute monarchs” (Higginson, we recall, likened them to federated states in a commonwealth, where “each member runs his or her own selves”). . . . .

“All her life she demanded too much of people. Her early girl friends could hardly keep up with her tumultuous letters or, like Sue, could not or would not take her into their lives as she wanted to be taken. They had other concerns. The young men, save for a few who had amusing or edifying intellectual exchanges with her, apparently shied away. Eliza Coleman’s fear that her friends in Amherst  “wholly misinterpret” her, was a polite way of saying, perhaps, that they would not respond with the intensity she apparently demanded of everyone. She seemed unable to take friendship casually, nor could she be realistic about love. The result was excessive tension at every meeting, so that meetings themselves became ordeals. One such meeting was enough for Higginson (“I am glad not to live near her”); in her own economy, she found that she had to ration them very carefully. And when she fell in love, all this was further intensified. The one meeting recorded in this letter, when she asked her Master for Redemption, spelled at once her joy and her tragedy. It exalted her-she bloomed like the rose, she soared like the bird-but it plunged her into “Chillon,” the captive of her own soaring fantasy about love.”

Similarly, Murray (1988) observes, “Dickinson established a traceable pattern of behavior in her girlhood friendships that she continued into the relationships of her adult life. When she discovered a person who potentially shared her feelings about a certain subject, she responded with surprise, enthusiasm, and selfishness. . . . In Dickinson’s pattern, after initial discovery, the friendship would blossom and grow, fueled by a great profusion of letters sharing confidences, feelings, and ideas. In these letters, she engaged her fertile imagination, savoring the kinship that she perceived between her and the kindred spirit she believed she had found.

“The friend, at some point following the relationship’s blossoming, realized that he or she could not reciprocate with the same ardor, frequency, or depth of feeling as Emily, to meet the poet’s intense emotional, spiritual, or intellectual needs. The friend then usually withdrew, withholding contact from her. Dickinson, then perceiving the slackening on the friend’s part, sought in letters to renew the friendship through chiding and wheedling. When these attempts failed to secure the desired results, she decided that the slowing of the friendship had occurred because of the friend’s disloyalty and betrayal, and she cooled in her once-passionate feelings for the friend. In most cases, correspondence stopped. And she opened once again the lid to what she called her “box of Phantoms” and put away another friend.” (Murray 1988).

ED coined her phrase, “Box of Phantoms”, in two letters, ML181 (JL177) and ML189 (JL186)

1. Sewall, Richard B. 1974. ‘The Life of Emily Dickinson’. 2 vols. New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. [Also, ‘The Life of Emily Dickinson’, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, Kindle edition, pp 517-518]
2. Murray, Barbara M. 1988. The scarlet experiment: Emily Dickinson’s abortion experience. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Tennessee. 391 pages.  (https://www.proquest.com/openview/0eecb3a583e119ca3a94cde080a874d1/1?pq-origsite=gscholar&cbl=18750&diss=y)
3. Miller, C and Mitchell, D. 2024. The Letters of Emily Dickinson. Harvard University Press. Kindle Edition.

 

 

811.1864.There is a June when Corn is cut

There is a June when Corn is cut
And Roses in the Seed—
A Summer briefer than the first
But tenderer indeed

As should a Face supposed the Grave’s
Emerge a single Noon
In the Vermilion that it wore
Affect us, and return—

Two Seasons, it is said, exist—
The Summer of the Just,
And this of Ours, diversified
With Prospect, and with Frost—

May not our Second with its First
So infinite compare
That We but recollect the one
The other to prefer?

My interpretation of four-stanza ‘There is a June when Corn is cut’, in four prose sentences:

1. There is a time when corn is cut and roses go to seed, a summer briefer than the first, but lovely all the same.

2. As if a face, long buried in the grave, emerge a single noon in rosy cheeks it former wore, then vanish into air.

3. Two seasons, it is said, exist, the summer of the saved, and this of ours, diversified with promise and with pain.

4. May not our second season so infinite compare, that we but spy the first face, our second to prefer.

Stanza 1

In western Massachusetts, corn (maize) was harvested in late summer/early autumn, not June, which is the clue that this poem is about Indian Summer, a period of warm, sunny, and dry weather that occurs in the autumn, usually after the first frost. Though brief, Indian Summer resurrects fleeting feelings of summertime, which ED described as “tenderer indeed”.

Stanza 2

A memory of a ruddy-cheeked face that ED thought she’d never see again appeared for a single “Noon”, woke memories of a “summer’s day”, perhaps in 1860 (Fr325?) , then vanished into time. For ED, that face was Wadsworth’s.

Stanza 3

ED’s “First” summer was her “Summer of the Just” (Line 10), where “Just” means “perfected ones; those made whole” [EDLex, Definition 2 of “Just”].

ED realized that Indian Summer, her second summer, is diversified with Prospect and with Pain, but she felt that pain on Earth would be worth enduring when she finally arrives at her Heavenly second” summer with Wadsworth:

“. . . we shall rise—
Deposed—at length—the Grave—
To that new Marriage—
Justified—through Calvaries of Love!”
(Fr325)

Stanza 4

May not our second summer so infinite compare, that we but spy the first, our second to prefer.

……………………………………………………………….

Fr811, ‘There is a June when Corn is cut’, got me wondering how many “Indian Summer” poems ED composed. The answer is at least nine:

1. F122 ‘These are the days when Birds come back’
2. F265 ‘It cant be “Summer”!’
3. F363 ‘I know a place where Summer strives’
4. F408 ‘Like some Old fashioned Miracle’
5. F520 ‘God made a little Gentian’
6. F811 ‘There is a June when Corn is cut’
7. F1412 ‘How know it from a Summer’s Day?’
8. F1419 ‘A – Field of Stubble, lying sere’
9. F1457 ‘Summer has two Beginnings‘

My  source for eight of these poem titles was David Preest. Tom C added the ninth with his comment of October 1, 2025, on The Prowling Bee.

ED’s alternate words/phrases in parentheses.

On a Columnar Self—
How ample to rely
In Tumult—or Extremity—
How good the Certainty

That Lever cannot pry—
And Wedge cannot divide
Conviction—That Granitic Base—
Though None be on our Side—

Suffice Us—for a Crowd—
Ourself—and Rectitude—
And that Assembly (Companion)—not far off
From furthest (Faithful) Spirit (Good Man)—God—

I prefer all three of ED’s alternate words/phrases because they illustrate how ED refuses to be pidgeonholed into “atheist” or “deist”. In this poem, God is a “Companion” for the “Faithful Good Man”.

As Sherwood (1968) said:

“The Emily Dickinson revealed in her works is complex and inconsistent, often contradictory, moving from ecstasy to desperation, from a fervent faith to a deep suspicion and skepticism, from humility and submissiveness to defiance and scorn. She is blasphemous as often as devout, and in her poetry God is accused of petty vindictiveness and cold indifference as often as He is celebrated for benevolence or admired for His majesty.”

ED Lexicon defines “columnar” as “stony; rigid, like granite; similar to a marble pillar”, and ED’s poem fits that description.

Stanza 1 states ED’s quasi-religious belief that a stiff spine in times of “Tumult – or Extremity” rewards the true believer or disbeliever with “good” feelings of “Certainty”.

Stanza 2 reiterates ED’s belief in no uncertain terms: “Lever cannot pry – / And Wedge cannot divide / Conviction – That Granitic Base – / Though none be on our side –“. ED’s refusal at age 16 to stand and accept Christ as her savior, despite Mount Holyoke’s Headmistress’s exhortation in front of a class of schoolgirls, no doubt loomed large in ED’s mind while she composed this poem.

Stanza 2 closes with royal plural; “our” means “my”. ED has a history of speaking of herself in third person. Line 8 probably means “Though none be on my side”.

Stanza 3 continues royal plural in Lines 9-10; “Us” and “Ourself” probably mean “Myself”:

“Suffice Myself – for a Crowd –
Myself – and Rectitude -”.

In Line 12, ED pulls an ace from her pocket by adding “God” to her “Crowd”, forming a trio: “Myself”, “Rectitude”, and “God”. It’s always good to have God on your side. As Adam pointed out, she also suggested three alternative words for Lines 11 & 12: “Assembly” [Companion], “furthest” [Faithful], “Spirit” [Good Man].

Editors Johnson (1955) and Franklin (1998) decided to disregard alternative words in Stanza 3 and keep the royal plural. That wording confuses me. Does “Assembly” refer to “God” or to “Myself – and Rectitude”?

Inserting all three alternative words and converting royal plural to standard singular, Stanza 3 reads:

“Suffice Myself – for a Crowd –
Myself – and Rectitude -.
And that Companion – not far off
From Faithful Good Man – God –”

Now Stanza 3 makes sense; “Crowd” clearly consists of “Myself”, “Rectitude”, and “God”. For once, ED tells us what she means with her alternative words – or does she? ED’s coziness with God, “that Companion – not far off / From Faithful Good Man”, seems strange given their troubled relations. Maybe she’s just covering her agnostic bets.

Shira Wolosky (2000) asks a rhetorical question: “Is New England self-reliance, à la Emerson, a choice preferrable to traditional social interdependence or does it devolve into cold self-defeating stoniness?”

Her answer: “[W]e can see how desperate, and how self-defeating, this “Columnar Self” [is], for all its array of certain, granitic, language . . . . Posed almost frantically against tremendous, threatening forces — “Tumult,” “Extremity” — and assaultive intrusion — a “Wedge” that threatens to “divide” — this self stands in utter isolation, “None be on our side.” And the self’s rescue costs in fact the self itself: its liberty, its mobility, indeed consciousness itself — for here Dickinsonian selfhood is lapidary [stony], a downward metamorphosis from motive, sentient, conscious being into inorganic stone. What first appears, then, to be a declaration of absolute independence, emerges instead as a defensive, ambivalent contraction of selfhood, unto its own undoing.”

• Shira Wolosky. 2000. ‘Dickinson’s Emerson: A Critique of American Identity’. The Emily Dickinson Journal, 9(2):134-141

In my experience, adherence to “That Granitic Base” of a “Columnar Self” often “emerges instead as a defensive, ambivalent contraction of selfhood, unto its own undoing”, i.e., stolid stoicism.

Sherwood, W.R., 1968. Circumference and Circumstance, Columbia University Press.

Shira Wolosky. 2000. Dickinson’s Emerson: A Critique of American Identity. The Emily
Dickinson Journal, 9(2):134-141

ED’s alternate words in parentheses

Joy to have merited the Pain—
To merit the Release—
Joy to have perished every step—
To Compass Paradise—

Pardon—to look upon thy face—
With these old fashioned Eyes—
Better than new—could be—for that—
Though bought in Paradise—

Because they looked on thee before—
And thou hast looked on them—
Prove Me—My Hazel (swimming) Witnesses
The features are the same—

So fleet thou wert, when present—
So infinite—when gone—
An Orient’s Apparition—
Remanded of the Morn—

The Height I recollect—
‘Twas even with the Hills—
The Depth upon my Soul was notched—
As Floods—on Whites of Wheels—

To Haunt—till Time have dropped
His last Decade (slow Decades) away,
And Haunting actualize—to last
At least—Eternity—

Line 11: ED told Higginson her eyes were hazel, “like the sherry in the glass, that the guest leaves” [JL345, 1862-07-22]. I prefer the alternate “swimming” because she’s been crying. Line 22: I prefer ED’s alternate, “slow Decades” because ED expects to live several “slow Decades” before she dies and joins Wadsworth in Heaven. “His last decade” implies she must wait until the end of “Time”, which is not her intended meaning.

Especially for this poem, which ED  copied into Fascicle 36 “about the second half of 1863” (Franklin 1998), it’s important to know that:

“Emily Dickinson first went to Boston for eye treatment in February 1864 and stayed until November, followed by another treatment period in April 1865. She was being treated by Boston ophthalmologist Dr. Henry Willard Williams for an eye affliction that began the previous year [1863]. During these times away from her home in Amherst, she stayed with her cousins, Frances and Lavinia Norcross” (Google AI).   No wonder ED focuses so much on “old eyes and new eyes”; hers were failing.

ED’s best poems can be read at many levels, personal to universal. To see the universe in a blade of grass is a skill that requires a big mind. However, universalizing ‘Joy to have merited the Pain—’ eludes me, so here’s a biographical take, stanza by stanza, with my apologies to purists:

Stanza 1 sounds masochistic to me: “It feels so good when the beating ends”. ED Lex defines the verb “compass” as “achieve; arrive at”, so Lines 3-4, “Joy to have perished every step – / To Compass Paradise –”, translates for me “Since you left me, I’ve perished painfully every day, but when we meet in Paradise, that daily dying will be worthwhile”. Marianne Noble (1994) argues “that a broad undercurrent of masochistic imagery characterizes mid-nineteenth-century American sentimental fiction”, ED’s guilty pleasure, but that’s over my pay grade.

Stanzas 2-3 echo Master Letter 3 (Summer 1861): “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 -”. Master’s identity will likely elude proof, but ED’s most recent leading biographer concludes “To date, there is only one candidate who matches what we infer about the unknown [Master] . . . Reverend Charles Wadsworth” (Habegger 2002, p.504), as did Whicher (1939) and Sewall (1974)..

Stanzas 4-5 likely relive an 1860 invited visit to Homestead by Rev. Wadsworth. At the time, he was the superstar pastor of Philadelphia’s Arch Street Presbyterian Church, and ED had heard him preach in March 1855 when she was 24. Apparently, that sermon planted a seed of adoration, infatuation, and love that affected her until the day she died.

The poet and the preacher corresponded over the next five years, probably including Master Letter 1 (spring 1858; Franklin 1984). ED’s memory of that 1860 visit, faulty or not, was that Wadsworth assured her they would meet and marry in Heaven

Stanza 6 closes the poem: You will haunt me / Until Time’s “last Decade” / That haunting will last / “At least – Eternity”. Apparently, ED believed Wadsworth, literally.

As a child, ED’s conception of heaven began in uncertain agnosticism: “Maybe heaven exists”. By 1863 her conception probably was certain agnosticism: “We have no evidence heaven exists, but absence of evidence doesn’t prove heaven’s non-existence”. See F725, ‘Their Height in Heaven comforts not—’, especially ED’s last two lines:

“This timid life of Evidence
Keeps pleading – ‘I don’t know’”.

We can’t assume ED was logical about her beliefs, as these two quotes suggest:

“The Emily Dickinson revealed in her works is complex and inconsistent, often contradictory, moving from ecstasy to desperation, from a fervent faith to a deep suspicion and skepticism, from humility and submissiveness to defiance and scorn. She is blasphemous as often as devout, and in her poetry God is accused of petty vindictiveness and cold indifference as often as He is celebrated for benevolence or admired for His majesty.”

Sherwood, W.R., Circumference and Circumstance. 1968.

“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function”.

F. Scott Fitzgerald. February, 1936. ‘The Crack-Up’. Esquire magazine.

During summer 1860, while visiting his best friend, James Clark in Northampton, Wadsworth took the 12-mile train ride to Amherst for an invited visit with ED. For a superstar Philadelphia minister to take such an interest in her, an unpublished, unmarried, small town, 29-year-old poet, must have sent her brain spinning.

Reverend Wadsworth’s memory of that 1860 meeting and his feelings for ED will never be known. The only thing we know for certain is that during a 1939 interview, Wadworth’s youngest son, Dr. William S. Wadsworth, Coroner of Philadelphia, answered a question by an early biographer, George F. Whicher:

“Did your father ever speak of Emily Dickinson’s poems?”. Dr. Wadsworth replied, “He would not have cared for them. The poetry he admired was of a different order. . . . My father was not one to be unduly impressed by a hysterical young woman’s ravings” (Whicher 1949).

During late summer 1861 Wadsworth probably informed ED that he was considering a “remove” to San Francisco’s new Calvary Presbyterian Church. In May 1862 he and his family did move, and ED, prone to separation anxiety, sank into a painful mental maelstrom that lasted at least two years (L338 to Higginson, April 28, 1862, “I had a terror – since September – I could tell to none”) Perhaps ‘Joy to have merited the Pain’ (F739, 1863) was a stage of her recovery.

• Franklin, R. W. (ed.). 1984. The Master Letters of Emily Dickinson. Amherst College Press, Amherst, MA. 52 pp.
• Habegger, Alfred. 2002. My Wars Are Laid Away in Books: The Life of Emily Dickinson, p.504
• Noble, Marianne. 1994. ‘“Joy to Have Merited the Pain”: The Masochistic Pleasures of the Sentimental Voice’. Columbia University Dissertation. 448 pp.
• Sewall, Richard B. 1974. The Life of Emily Dickinson. Paperback edition. 1998. Harvard U. Press.
• Whicher, G. F. 1938. A Critical Biography of Emily Dickinson; A Special Edition with an Introduction by Richard B. Sewall, Amherst College Press, 1992.
• Whicher, G. F. 1949. Pursuit of the Overtakeless. The Nation. Issue 2. Pp. 14-15.