Page:The complete poems of Emily Dickinson, (IA completepoemsofe00dick 1).pdf/344

My life closed twice before its close;

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My nosegays are for captives;

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My river runs to thee:

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My Wheel is in the dark,—

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My worthiness is all my doubt,

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Nature is what we see,

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Nature rarer uses yellow

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Nature, the gentlest mother,

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New feet within my garden go,

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No Autumn’s intercepting chill

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No brigadier throughout the year

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No matter where the Saints abide,

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No other can reduce

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No rack can torture me,

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No romance sold unto,

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Not any higher stands the grave

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Not any sunny tone

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Not in this world to see his face

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Not knowing when the dawn will come

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Not one by Heaven defrauded stay,

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Not when we know

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Not with a club the heart is broken,

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Of all the souls that stand create

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Of all the sounds despatched abroad,

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Of bronze and blaze

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Of Death the sharpest function,

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Of so divine a loss

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Of this is Day composed—

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Of tribulation these are they

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One blessing had I, than the rest

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One day is there of the series

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One dignity delays for all,

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One need not be a chamber to be haunted, —

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One of the ones that Midas touched,

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One sister have I in our house,

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On my volcano grows the grass, —

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On such a night, or such a night,

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On the bleakness of my lot

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On this long storm the rainbow rose,

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On this wondrous sea,

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Our journey had advanced;

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Our lives are Swiss,—

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Our share of night to bear,

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