Our’s be the tossing…

June 23, 2009

How sick—to wait—

[I]n any place—but thine—

I knew last night—when

[S]omeone tried to twine—


I looked tired—or alone—

Or breaking—almost—with

[U]nspoken pain—

And I turned—ducal—

That right—was thine—

One port—suffices—

[F]or a Brig—like mine

Our’s be the tossing—

[W]ild through the sea—

Rather than a mooring—

[U]nshared by thee.

Our’s be the Cargo—


Rather than the “spicy isles—”

And thou—not there—

(God, that’s beautiful.)

It is the autograph manuscript version of Emily Dickinson’s “How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine—” (Fr.410), which “shows traces of an earlier and more conventional structure of rhyme, enabling us to attempt an archeological reconstruction of what the poem may have looked like during the first stages of its construction.”

Domhnall Mitchell, Measures of Possibility: Emily Dickinson’s Manuscripts, Amherst and Boston: U of Massachusetts P, 2005: 257.

One Response to “Our’s be the tossing…”

  1. cecilia Says:

    It is beautiful indeed, I found this following the poetry tag.

    Reading this I definitely ‘pile like Thunder to its close/then crumble grand away’..thanks for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: