Emily Dickinson Quotes (Author of The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson)
The Sunset Stopped On Cottages - Poem by Emily Dickinson
Edna Pickett's sophomore English class, circa Within her collection of some 1, poems, Emily Dickinson has included at least 22 that focus on the diurnal phenomena known as "sunset. In "The Guest is gold and crimson," the speaker personifies "sunset" as a visitor who comes to town "at nightfall," and he visits everyone in town as he "stops at every door. He reaches town at nightfall — He stops at every door — Who looks for him at morning I pray him too — explore The Lark's pure territory — Or the Lapwing's shore! This colorful poem is dramatizing sunset as a guest who visits every door, every day. This poem functions as a riddle, as the speaker never names the subject she is describing. The speaker describes the subject of her drama by stating the colors of sunset.
Emily Dickinson The sunset and the morning, the robin and the rainbow—all clearly cater the themes of nature. But the poet's treatment of a familiar theme is unusual and as charming as it is enticing. The very first line is startling in its poetic intensity, where the sunset is reduced to the content of the cup. The lawn filled with dew, and the long, wide leap of the morning's brightness and the weaver bird spinning its nests are some of the attractions of the morning. The intensity of the first line challenges analysis and explanation.
The sunset, woven of soft lights And tender colors, lingers late, As looking back on all day's dreary plights, Compassionate;. Out to eternity she goes, Not for her failure scorned, but see! Our poor day flushed with beauty, one more rose On God's rose-tree. Out of the sunset's red Into the blushing sea, The winds of day drop dead And dreams come home to me. The night comes up the beach, The dark steals over all, Though silence has no speech I hear the sea-dreams call To my heart; — and in reply It answers with a sigh. When insect wings are glistening in the beam Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright, Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream, Wander amid the mild and mellow light; And while the redbreast pipes his evening lay, Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day. Oh, sun!
This is the land the sunset washes, These are the banks of the Yellow Sea; Where it rose, or whither it rushes, These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traffic Strews the landing with opal bales; Merchantmen poise upon horizons, Dip, and vanish with fairy sails. Bonus points if you share why the particular text resonates with you. You know I love Emily Dickinson poetry, so who better. The photo was taken in my town at the channel on a glorious evening in Spring You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account.