One reader's reconciliation of habit with passion & pleasure with self-actualization
Monday, December 05, 2011
Emily Dickinson # 613 & 593
They shut me up in Prose--
As when a Little Girl
They put me in the Closet
Because they liked me "still"--
Still! Could themself have peeped--
And seen my Brain--go round--
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason--in the Pound--
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Look down upon Captivity--
And laugh--No more have I--
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 Night
I had not power to tell--
...
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 Diety--to keep--