Poetry Friday: IX by Emily Dickinson
January 18, 2008
Well, here I go….this is my first time taking part in Poetry Friday and you can find the entire round up of poems at Farm School.
Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?
And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.
Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.
And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!
As I read this poem, I am reminded of when I lived in Pennsylvania. While Miss Dickinson is not to be always taken literally, this poem brings me back to the times on my family’s acres where we had a brook, ‘bashful flowers,’ and ‘blushing birds’ aplenty. Then, as the poem progresses, I am reminded of our last winter in Pennsylvania, “And the snows come hurrying from the hills,/And the bridges often go,” and, finally, of our settling in Arizona “…When the meadows parching lie,/Beware, lest this little brook of life/Some burning noon go dry!”