I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil nuts? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
“But, madam, is dere nuttin’ else
I can shell you to-day?”
The 1924 version; the authentic version, using the remarkably different “sneered.” A particularly funny and enigmatic poem, even cited in a 1913 critique of Dickinson in The Atlantic (“a union of playfulness and of terrible comment upon the thwarted aspirations of a suffering soul”).
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the ground
And leaves us in another place
That turns out to be an Indian burial mound;
Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend,
A little newer for the term
We played with bones we found.
The original version. This has also been turned into a choral piece that even middle-schoolers can sing.
I don’t have time to count. Throw the switch!
Witchcraft has not a pedigree
As commanding as our breasts—
Young men stare at them amazed
The moment we’re undressed.
The less, uh, quickening version.
…as a lady from her (very gross) door…
I have it on good authority…
…that being littler than the rest…