POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
XV
I’VE seen a dying eyeRun round and round a roomIn search of something, as it seemed,Then cloudier become;
And then, obscure with fog,And then be soldered down,Without disclosing what it be,’T were blessed to have seen.
XVI
THE clouds their backs together laid,The north begun to push.The forests galloped till they fell,The lightning skipped like mice;The thunder crumbled like a stuff—How good to be safe in tombs,Where nature’s temper cannot reach,Nor vengeance ever comes!
XVII
I NEVER saw a moor,I never saw the sea;Yet know I how the heather looks,And what a wave must be.
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