Category: Dickinson

I died for Beauty – but was scarce

Adjusted in the Tomb

When One who died for Truth, was lain

In an adjoining Room –

 

He questioned softly, “Why I failed”?

“For Beauty”, I replied –

“And I – for Truth – Themself are One –

We Brethren, are”, He said –

 

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night –

We talked between the Rooms –

Until the Moss had reached our lips –

And covered up – our names –

This is my letter to the World

That never wrote to Me –

The simple News that Nature told –

With tender Majesty

 

Her Message is committed

To Hands I cannot see –

For Love of Her – Sweet – countrymen –

Judge tenderly – of Me

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 –

 

The brain is wider than the sky;
For put them side by side
The one the other will contain with ease –
And you beside.