Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends. Emily Dickinson.
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends
Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends

Poems [Second Series] Edited by two of her Friends

Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1891. First Edition. 8vo. 1 blank leaf, 1 f. (recto blank, verso with publisher's advertisement announcing prices for the First and Second series), 2 ff. facsimile of Dickinson's manuscript of "Renunciation" which appeared in the First Series), 230 pp., 1 blank leaf. Original grey cloth, gilt, top edges gilt. Lacking front binder's leaf, lower hinge (previously repaired?) cracked, fore-edges a trifle foxed, front cover and spine spotted (SEE IMAGES). A good, tight copy, the text very clean, and without any markings or writing whatsoever. With faults, and priced accordingly. Item #3293

FIRST EDITION, and the FIRST APPEARANCE IN PRINT of all the immortal poems listed below.

The monumental importance of this diminutive book of poetry is so obvious that any solicitation whatsoever is hardly merited. However, as it is our book, and our cataloguing of it, for purely selfish reasons would like to mention here only the FIRST LINES which -- if you know Emily Dickinson's poetry -- you will be moved, knowing what quiet majesty they convey:

A Bird came down the Walk
A brief but patient illness
A Charm invests a face
A Death blow is a Life blow to Some
A Deed knocks first at Thought
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
A poor — torn heart — a tattered heart
A Route of Evanescence
A shady friend — for Torrid days
A Spider sewed at Night
A Thought went up my mind today
A throe upon the features
After a hundred years
Ample make this Bed
An altered look about the hills
An awful Tempest mashed the air —
An Everywhere of Silver
Arcturus is his other name
As by the dead we love to sit
As imperceptibly as Grief
At Half past Three, a single Bird
At least — to pray — is left — is left
Before I got my eye put out
Before you thought of Spring
Besides the Autumn poets sing
Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple
Bring me the sunset in a cup
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Death sets a Thing significant
Delight — becomes pictorial
Did the Harebell loose her girdle
Each Life Converges to some Centre
Essential Oils — are wrung
Except the Heaven had come so near
Experiment to me
Faith is a fine invention
For each ecstatic instant
Frequently the woods are pink -
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
Further in Summer than the Birds
God gave a Loaf to every Bird
God made a little Gentian
Going to Heaven!
Going to Him! Happy letter!
Good Night! Which put the Candle out?
Great Streets of silence led away
He preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow
He put the Belt around my life
Heart, not so heavy as mine
Her final Summer was it
Hope is the thing with feathers
How happy is the little Stone
I bring an unaccustomed wine
I can wade Grief
I dreaded that first Robin, so
I found the words to every thought
I gained it so
I gave myself to Him
I had been hungry, all the Years
I had no Cause to be awake
I have no Life but this
I haven't told my garden yet
I held a Jewel in my fingers
I know a place where Summer strives
I know that He exists.
I like to see it lap the Miles
I lived on Dread
I many times thought Peace had come
I meant to have but modest needs
I never hear the word escape
I noticed People disappeared
I read my sentence — steadily
I robbed the Woods
I should have been too glad, I see
I should not dare to leave my friend
I started Early — Took my Dog
I think just how my shape will rise
I took my Power in my Hand
I went to Heaven
I Years had been from Home
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
If anybody's friend be dead
If I should die
In lands I never saw — they say
In the name of the bee
Is Heaven a Physician?
It can't be Summer!
It sifts from Leaden Sieves
It sounded as if the Streets were running
It tossed — and tossed
It was not Death, for I stood up
Just lost, when I was saved!
Lay this Laurel on the One
Let down the Bars, Oh Death
Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red
Mine Enemy is growing old
Morns like these — we parted
Musicians wrestle everywhere
My country need not change her gown
My nosegays are for Captives
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is
Nature rarer uses Yellow
No Brigadier throughout the Year
No Life can pompless pass away
Of all the Souls that stand create
Of Tribulation, these are They
On such a night, or such a night
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted
One of the ones that Midas touched
Our journey had advanced
Pigmy seraphs — gone astray
Portraits are to daily faces
Prayer is the little implement
Remorse — is Memory — awake
She died — this was the way she died.
She sweeps with many-colored Brooms
Some, too fragile for winter winds
South Winds jostle them
Step lightly on this narrow spot
Surgeons must be very careful
Taken from men — this morning
Talk with prudence to a Beggar
The Body grows without
The Day came slow — till Five o'clock
The Gentian weaves her fringes
The Leaves like Women interchange
The Moon is distant from the Sea
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants
The nearest Dream recedes — unrealized
The Night was wide, and furnished scant
The One who could repeat the Summer day
The only Ghost I ever saw
The Rat is the concisest Tenant.
The Robin is the One
The Rose did caper on her cheek
The Show is not the Show
The Skies can't keep their secret!
The Soul unto itself
The Sun — just touched the Morning
The thought beneath so slight a film
The Way I read a Letter's — this
The Wind — tapped like a tired Man
The Wind begun to knead the Grass
Their Height in Heaven comforts not
There came a Wind like a Bugle
There is a Shame of Nobleness
They dropped like Flakes
This Merit hath the worst
Tho' I get home how late — how late
Through the strait pass of suffering
To hear an Oriole sing
To learn the Transport by the Pain
Triumph — may be of several kinds
Two butterflies went out at Noon
Undue Significance a starving man attaches
Unto my Books — so good to turn
Victory comes late
Wait till the Majesty of Death
We play at Paste
Went up a year this evening!
What if I say I shall not wait!
What Inn is this
When I hoped I feared
Where Ships of Purple — gently toss
Who never lost, are unprepared
Whose are the little beds, I asked
Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
Will there really be a Morning?
Your Riches — taught me — Poverty.

Price: $1,250.00