Like many I’ve long enjoyed the poetry of Emily Dickinson as well as been curious about her life. The sparse beauty of her poetry shows such depth of spirit and emotion. In My Wars Are Laid Away in Books Alfred Habegger sums it up quite well by writing “Dickinson lives for us because she was able to pack grief, gaiety, memory, and so much more in a tight, always fresh, lyric package.”
Above are my choices for the Emily Dickinson Shawl – a rich chestnut brown silk yarn and clear beads lined with copper. In one of her letters to Thomas Higginson, she wrote “I…am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold, like the chestnut burr; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.”
Here is one of Ms Dickinson’s poems about finding love late in life that I earmarked in my copy of Final Harvest when I was 42 or 43. In The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson it is #250.
I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes –
Each – with a Robin’s expectation –
I – with my Redbreast –
And my Rhymes –
Late – when I take my place in summer –
But I shall bring a fuller tune –
Vespers – are sweeter than Matins – Signor –
Morning – only the seed of Noon
*cross posted on Seasons of Lace