Year: 2025

There is a flower that Bees prefer —
And Butterflies — desire —
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird — aspire —

And Whatsoever Insect pass —
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her — capacity —

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Of Orchis in the Pasture —
Or Rhododendron — worn —

She doth not wait for June —
Before the World be Green —
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind — be seen —

Contending with the Grass —
Near Kinsman to Herself —
For Privilege of Sod and Sun —
Sweet Litigants for Life —

And when the Hills be full —
And newer fashions blow —
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy —

Her Public — be the Noon —
Her Providence — the Sun —
Her Progress — by the Bee — proclaimed —
In sovereign — Swerveless Tune —

The Bravest — of the Host —
Surrendering — the last —
Nor even of Defeat — aware —
When cancelled by the Frost —

In ‘The Prowling Bee’, Susan Kornfeld and Adam DeGraff suggest Lines 3-4 of this poem are intentional one-up-womanship, a clever usurpation of Whitman’s democratic grass by ED’s purple clover:

“To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird — aspire —”

ED claimed that she avoided Whitman’s poetry because he was “disgraceful”:

“You speak of Mr Whitman-I never read his Book-but was told that he was              disgraceful-“ (L261 to Higginson, April 25, 1862).

However, this poem, F642, suggests she was stretching the truth. I’ll bet she sneaked a peek now and then at Whitman’s popular poetry.

• EDLex has eight definitions of the adjective “Purple”. 8 & 9 are “Ruling; commanding; all-powerful; omnipotent” and “Dark; deep; unfathomable in depth”.
• The noun “Democrat” has two definitions, the first is “Politician; advocate for democracy; one who is for government by the people, especially who favors the extension of rights to all classes of people.”

Whitman was an extreme advocate for democracy, who favored “the extension of rights to all classes of people.” He also considered himself a “commanding” poet. Knowing ED’s subtle penchant for iconoclasm, ‘There is a flower that Bees prefer’ may be ED’s tongue-in-cheek put-down of His Majesty.

What I can do – I will –
Though it be little as a Daffodil –
That I cannot – must be
Unknown to possibility –

If  ‘What I can do – I will’  sounds familiar, here’s the original version of the ‘Serenity Prayer’, currently attributed to American theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr (Wygal 1932):

• “The victorious man in the day of crisis is the man who has the serenity to accept what he cannot help and the courage to change what must be altered.”

Rearranged and reformatted, Niebuhr’s ‘Serenity Prayer’ matches exactly ED’s poem, idea-for-idea:

• The victorious man in the day of crisis
  Is the man who has the courage to change what must be altered
  And the serenity to accept
  What he cannot help

This poem, ‘What I can do – I will’ (Fr461, “late 1863”, Franklin), suggests that after more than two years of healing, ED was emerging from her well documented episode of depression and “terror”:

• “I had a terror – since September [1861]– I could tell to none – and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground, because I am afraid.” (L338 to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, April 28, 1862).

My hypothesis is that ED’s “terror” began when Rev. Charles Wadsworth told her he was considering a move to San Francisco to rescue the failing 10-year-old Calvary Presbyterian Church. He sailed from New York Harbor with his family on May 1, 1862. He more than exceeded Calvary’s wildest hopes; even anti-Christian Mark Twain attended and praised his sermons.

Did Niebuhr read ED’s newly published (1/1/1929) book of poems? In 1929, Winnifred C. Wygal was a graduate student at Union Theological Seminary attending Reinhold Niebuhr’s lectures. She was the first to notice the similarity of Niebuhr’s prayer and ED’s poem (Wygal’s diary entry Oct. 31, 1932).

As further circumstantial evidence that Niebuhr may had read ED’s newly published book of poems, later in 1929 Niebuhr wrote:

• “[R]eligion is poetry . . . religion [becomes] more compelling when vivified by adequate poetic symbols than by the poor prose of the average preacher.”
• The ultimate nature of reality cannot be grasped by science alone; poetic imagination is as necessary as scientific precision.”
• “How can an age which is so devoid of poetic imagination as ours be truly religious?”

.

References

Dickinson, Emily. The Letters of Emily Dickinson (2024). Eds. Cristanne Miller and Domhnall Mitchell. Harvard University Press. Kindle Edition.

Niebuhr, Reinhold, 1929, ‘Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic’, Chicago, Willett, Clark, and Colby.

David R. Bains. 2004. ‘Conduits of Faith: Reinhold Niebuhr’s Liturgical Thought’. Church History, Mar., 2004, 73(1): 168-194.

Death sets a Thing significant
The Eye had hurried by
Except a perished Creature
Entreat us tenderly

To ponder little workmanships
In Crayon – or in wool –
With “This was last Her fingers did” —
Industrious until —

The Thimble weighed too heavy —
The stitches stopped —themselves —
And then ’twas put among the Dust
Upon the Closet shelves —

A Book I have — a friend gave —
Whose Pencil — here and there —
Had notched the place that pleased Him —
At Rest — His fingers are —

Now — when I read — I read not —
For interrupting Tears —
Obliterate the Etchings
Too Costly for Repairs.

Stanza 1 sets us up with contrasting responses to mementos of dead acquaintances, both close friends who treated us tenderly and those who, though generous, didn’t leave mementos of what we needed most during childhood and adolescence, unconditional nurturing and encouragement.

Stanza 2 gives examples of mementos left by dead friends and family, a child’s “Crayon” drawings, a knitted wool sweater. Then death stopped the crayons and the “stitches”, and the mementos, now forgotten, gather dust on closet shelves. Exceptions are gifts from someone who treated us “tenderly”. Those mementos bring tears to our eyes, leave teardrop stains on book pages, metaphorically “Too Costly for Repairs” because of our memories of being “Entreated tenderly” by those who loved us deeply.

This poem, while perhaps superficially sentimental, hints at inner neediness and a limited ability to love.

…………………………….

Indirect evidence suggests the “Book” (Line 13) was Emerson’s ‘Poems’ (1847), which Benjamin Franklin Newton gave ED in 1850:

“She [ED] wrote her friend Jane Humphrey in January, 1850, ‘I had a letter-and Ralph Emerson’s Poems – a beautiful copy – from Newton the other day. I should love to read you them both – they are very pleasant to me’ [Letter L30]. Benjamin Newton, a student in her father’s law office, is the ‘dying Tutor’. Dickinson mentions in her third letter to Higginson, June 7, 1862 [Letter L265], the friend who encouraged her to be a poet and whose gift of Emerson’s Poems of 1847 she treasured. The two events – Newton’s – encouragement to write and her discovery of Emerson as poet – became closely associated in her mind as seminal for her own art . . . .” (Mann 1978, p 470)

Thomas H. Johnson (1955) had this to say:

“In the late Forties Benjamin Franklin Newton was a law student in the office of Emily’s father, Edward Dickinson. . . . Ben Newton had been one of Emily Dickinson’s earliest “preceptors,” and his memory always remained with her. Newton awakened in her a response to intellectual independence and a delight in literature which later made her call him the “friend who taught me Immortality”. . . . .

“It would thus appear that when Emily Dickinson was about twenty years old her latent talents were invigorated by a gentle, grave young man [Benjamin Franklin Newton] who taught her how to observe the world. Their friendship was cut off by his early death [in 1853]. She made the statement to Higginson that “for several years” after her tutor’s death her lexicon was her only companion. Perhaps during the five years after Newton’s death she was trying to fashion verses in a desultory manner. Her muse had left the land and she must await the coming of another. That event occurred in [1855] in the person of Charles Wadsworth.”

Thomas H. Johnson. 1955. The Poems of Emily Dickinson. Harvard Belknap Press, Vol. 1 of three volumes, p.xx of 1266 pp.

John S. Mann. 1978. Emily Dickinson. Emerson, and the Poet as Namer. The New England Quarterly 51(4): 467-488.

ED’s alternate words are in (parentheses). Verse-by-verse interpretations are in [brackets]. Presumably, in Stanza 4, if posthumous “Honor . . . . is the Second Gain”, the First Gain is Self-Honor, while the poet lives:

Had I presumed to hope —
The loss had been to Me
A Value — for the Greatness’ Sake —
As Giants — gone (claimed) away —

[Had I presumed to hope for fame before I died —
The lack of that fame would have been to me,
A valuable lesson, because such fame —
Would have been a flash — it would have soon vanished —]

Had I presumed to gain
A Favor so remote —
The failure but confirm the Grace
In further Infinite —

[Had I presumed it possible to gain
Such Earthly fame —
The failure would confirm the grace
In further waiting for readers to discover my poems —]

‘Tis failure — not of Hope —
But Confident (diligent, resolute) Despair —
Advancing on Celestial Lists —
With faint — Terrestrial power —

[Lack of lifetime fame — is not a failure —
Rather it creates confidence that my poetry will be discovered —
Composing before death advances a poet’s posthumous place among great poets —
Though my efforts — depend on mere terrestrial powers — ]

‘Tis Honor — though I die —
For That no Man obtain
Till He be justified by Death —
This — is the Second Gain —

[‘Tis honor while I live — though I will die —
To labor for that fame, even if it
Be unattainable before I die —
Posthumous fame — is the Second Gain —]

Me prove it now — Whoever doubt
Me stop to prove it — now —
Make haste — the Scruple! Death be scant
For Opportunity —

The River reaches to my feet —
As yet — My Heart be dry —
Oh Lover — Life could not convince —
Might Death — enable Thee —

The River reaches to My Breast —
Still — still — My Hands above
Proclaim with their remaining might —
Dost recognize the Love?

The River reaches to my Mouth —
Remember — when the Sea
Swept by my searching eyes — the last —
Themselves were quick — with Thee!

Franklin estimates ED copied this poem into Fascicle 31 “about the second half of 1863”; When she composed it is unknown. The “it” in Lines 1 & 2 is an orphan pronoun, no antecedent:

Stanza 1

Stanza 1 expresses Speaker’s exasperation with Lover’s unfair demand for proof of her love. The emphatic “Oh Lover” in Stanza 2 suggests Stanza 1’s “Me prove it now” means “Me prove [my love to you now?]”. Speaker can’t believe her “Lover” still doubts her love. She’s miffed, exclaims “Me stop to prove it – now –” [!]. I hear her foot stomp and her imperative, “Make haste [with your] Scruple! / Death [comes near] / [Hungry for my soul.]”

Stanzas 2-4

My year-old comment (January 22, 2024) in The Prowling Bee still stands; Susan Kornfeld nailed Stanzas 2-4 in her explication of this poem. Speaker and Lover began their love affair in ecstatic infatuation, at least in Speaker’s imagination, but Lover sensed some real or imagined evidence that Speaker hasn’t been honest with him. He wants proof of her love. Meanwhile, the River of Death rises over Speaker’s mouth as she closes Stanza 4. Lover stands aloof in ignorance, still demanding proof of her love.

From ED’s pathological perspective, this scenario is what happened when Wadsworth moved from Philadelphia to San Francisco in May 1862. We now know the main reason he left Arch Street Presbyterian was because his congregation was largely anti-slavery, and Wadsworth believed the Bible condoned slavery. Slavery was less important to his new congregation in San Francisco, and Wadsworth tread carefully on the topic.

…………………………

I think Master Letter 3 and this poem, F631, are closely related. Franklin (1986) dated ML3 “about 1861″ . . . . “The handwriting is the only clue to the date. This rough draft was left among ED’s own papers, and no one knows whether a fair copy was made or sent to the person envisioned as the recipient.” Franklin (1986). Franklin dated poem F631, ‘Me prove it now’, “about summer 1863”.

In Stanza 1, ED offered two alternative words (in parentheses):

“Me prove it now — Whoever (Whatever) doubt
Me stop to prove it — now —
Make haste (Come near)— the Scruple! Death be scant
For Opportunity —”

Franklin (1998) rejects both alternatives . I prefer ED’s alternative, “Whatever”, in Line 1, because the “doubter “is the Lover, not just “Whoever”. However, in Line 3, I prefer her original phrase, “Make haste”, over its alternative “Come near” because the speaker is drowning, and “Make haste” reflects her urgency. Finally, EDLex defines “Scruple” (Line 3) as “remorse; sense of guilt” or “hesitation; uncertainty”.

…………………………………..

The following long quote is verbatim from Franklin, RW (ed). 1986.The Master Letters of Emily Dickinson, Amherst College Press. ED’s crossed out words/phrases are in brackets, [-]. Words in angle brackets, <->, are mine. I think the writer is trying to imagine “Whatever” offense of hers has alienated Master:

“Master Letter 3 <draft>

“To recipient unknown, about 1861; Words which <sic> ED crossed out are here enclosed in brackets < [-] >; her alternative words < & phrases > are in parentheses < (-) >; This rough draft was left among ED’s own papers, and no one knows whether a fair copy was made or sent to the person envisioned as the recipient.

“Master

“If you saw a bullet hit a Bird-and he told you he was’nt shot you might weep at his courtesy, but you would certainly doubt his word.

“One drop more from the gash that stains your Daisy’s bosom – then would you believe? . . . .  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 find 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 – To come nearer than presbyteries – and nearer than the new Coat – that the Tailor made – the prank of the Heart at play on: the Heart-in holy Holiday – is forbidden me – You make me say it over I fear you laugh – when I do not see – [but] “Chillon” <a prison> is not funny. . . . . Have you the Heart in your breast – Sir – is it set like mine – a little to the left – has it the misgiving – if it wake in the night – perchance itself to it-a timbrel is it – itself to it a tune?

“These things are [reverent] holy, Sir, I touch them [reverently] hallowed, but persons who pray – dare remark [our] “Father”! You say I do not tell you all – Daisy confessed – and denied not.

. . . . .

“I dont know what you can do for it-thank you – Master – but if I had the Beard on my cheek – like you – and you – had Daisy’s petals and you cared so for me – what would become of you? Could you forget me in fight, or flight-or the foreign l – and? Could’nt Carlo <ED’s huge Newfoundlander>, and you and I walk in the meadows an hour-and nobody care but the Bobolink – and his – a silver scruple? I used to think when I died-I could see you – so I died as fast as I could- but the “Corporation” <Presbyterian Church> are going Heaven too so [Eternity] wont be sequestered-now [at all] – Say I may wait for you – say I need go with no stranger to the to me untried [country] fold – I waited a long time – Master – but I can wait more – wait till my hazel hair is dappled – and you carry the cane – then I can look at my watch – and if the Day is too far declined – we can take the chances [of] for Heaven – What would you do with me if I came “in white?” Have you the little chest to put the Alive-in?

“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 think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl
I read that Foreign Lady
The Dark — felt beautiful

And whether it was noon at night —
Or only Heaven — at Noon —
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell —

The Bees — became as Butterflies —
The Butterflies — as Swans —
Approached — and spurned the narrow Grass —
And just the meanest Tunes

That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer —
I took for Giants — practising
Titanic Opera —

The Days — to Mighty Metres stept —
The Homeliest — adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
‘Twere suddenly confirmed —

I could not have defined the change —
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul —
Is witnessed — not explained —

Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be sane
Should I again experience
‘Tis Antidote to turn —

To Tomes of Solid Witchcraft —
Magicians be asleep —
But Magic — hath an element —
Like Deity — to keep —

What a biographical, atypically long poem, complex beyond ED’s trademarks, happy as her happiest, full of mystical allusions, sweet after so much pain. ‘I think I was enchanted’ feels like a turning point. Or is it a passing manic among passing hills and valleys? ED lures us on; stay tuned for another addictive episode.

This poem, ‘I think I was enchanted’, reminded Adam DeGraff of F620 (1863):

“Much Madness is divinest Sense –
To a discerning Eye –
Much Sense – the starkest Madness –
‘Tis the Majority In this, as all, prevail –
Assent, and you are sane –
Demur – you’re straightway dangerous –
And handled with a Chain.”

 

 

What care the Dead, for Chanticleer —
What care the Dead for Day?
‘Tis late your Sunrise vex their face —
And Purple Ribaldry — of Morning

Pour as blank on them
As on the Tier of Wall
The Mason builded, yesterday,
And equally as cool —

What care the Dead for Summer?
The Solstice had no Sun
Could waste the Snow before their Gate —
And knew One Bird a Tune —

Could thrill their Mortised Ear
Of all the Birds that be —
This One — beloved of Mankind
Henceforward cherished be —

What care the Dead for Winter?
Themselves as easy freeze —
June Noon — as January Night —
As soon the South — her Breeze

Of Sycamore — or Cinnamon —
Deposit in a Stone
And put a Stone to keep it Warm —
Give Spices — unto Men —

 

With this poem, ‘What care I for the dead’ (F624), ED hints at an answer to my implied question of the previous poem, “I wonder whether ED ever reached that entirely reasonable, anxiety-relieving, and simply stated belief: there is no there there.” The answer leans yes, at least for this poem, F624.