Dickinson, Emily - Poetry For Kids (Quarto, 2016)
Dickinson, Emily - Poetry For Kids (Quarto, 2016)
Dickinson, Emily - Poetry For Kids (Quarto, 2016)
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P K
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
I LLUSTRATED BY
C HRISTINE D AVENIER
E S S, PD
Publisher’s Note
Many years ago, my grandmother read poetry to me at a very young age, even Shakespeare. She felt, as I now can appreciate,
that the emotion and mood of poetry, even when it is almost too hard to understand, is so essential to understanding the world
around us. I’m hoping that this series, with its selection of a very diverse group of poets, and with art by some of the world’s
best illustrators, will bring that all to life for a new generation. –Charles Nurnberg
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the copyright owners.
All images in this book have been reproduced with the knowledge and prior consent of the artists concerned, and no
responsibility is accepted by producer, publisher, or printer for any infringement of copyright or otherwise, arising from the
contents of this publication. Every effort has been made to ensure that credits accurately comply with information supplied.
We apologize for any inaccuracies that may have occurred and will resolve inaccurate or missing information in a subsequent
reprinting of the book.
Reproduction of work for study or finished art is permissible. Any art produced or photomechanically reproduced from this
publication for commercial purposes is forbidden without written consent from the publisher, MoonDance Press.
Printed in China
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She lived in Amherst, Massachusetts, all her life, occupying a large brick house on Main Street
near a huge meadow, the railroad station, and a hat factory. Two blocks away was Amherst
College, which her grandfather Samuel Fowler Dickinson had helped to found in 1821. Emily’s
father, Edward, was a lawyer, treasurer of Amherst College, a member of the General Court
of Massachusetts, and, briefly, a US congressman. He married Emily Norcross of Monson,
Massachusetts, in May 1828. A quiet, sweet-natured woman, Emily Norcross was well
educated and especially talented at gardening and baking. She and Edward had three children:
Austin, born in 1829; Emily; and Lavinia, born in 1833. The smart, lively children shared a love
of reading, music, nature, and each other’s company.
Edward Dickinson helped to bring the railroad to the small town in 1853. Emily frequently
heard the train’s “horrid, hooting stanza,” the whistles from the hat factory, and even the
sounds of tumbling acrobats and caged animals moving along Main Street in the middle of the
night when the circus came to town. The large windows of The Homestead showed Emily the
dramas of the changing seasons and of life in “a country town.”
The poet’s life was both quiet and busy. She visited Washington, DC, and also journeyed to
Philadelphia, Hartford, Worcester, Springfield, Boston, and Cambridge. Yet Emily Dickinson
felt most comfortable at home. “Home is a holy thing,” she remarked. She baked bread for the
household, worked in the huge garden, wrote possibly ten thousand letters—think of what she
might have done with e-mail!—and created poems that were unlike anybody else’s poems: full
of word-play, startling images, puzzles, and surprises.
Emily Dickinson’s poems are populated by the birds, insects, frogs, snakes, and other
creatures she observed on her property. Their activities, lives, and deaths seem like those of
her relations. Her lifelong interest in science, especially botany and astronomy, enriched her
language with beauty and wonder.
Emily died at age fifty-five in 1886, of hypertension, leaving behind a treasure trove of nearly
1,800 poems. In November 1890, her first volume, edited by Thomas Wentworth Higginson
and Mabel Loomis Todd, was published, and went into eleven printings in one year. Now
her readers can view her poems online (http://www.edickinson.org/), decipher her quirky
handwriting, study the words she played with, and, as her sister, Lavinia, predicted, behold the
poet’s “genius.”
livelong — whole
bog — muddy swamp
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A bird came down the walk
A bird came down the walk
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
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“Answer, July!”
“Answer, July! —
Where is the Bee —
Where is the Blush —
Where is the Hay?”
quibbled — answered
maize — corn
burr — seedpod 13
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prairie — meadow
revery — daydream
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The cricket sang
The cricket sang
And set the sun
And workmen finished one by one
Their seam the day upon.
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unperceivèd — unseen
plies — works
naught — nothing
unsubstantial — unseen
tapestries — wall-hangings
sophistries — ideas
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hooked — locked up 33
deputies — law-enforcers
lathed — covered
Mechlin frames — bodies made of fine lace
duties — clothing
34 eider — soft, like ducks’ down
unique — one of a kind
sod — earth
troubadour — old name given to a poet in France
betrays — upsets or reveals
pensive — thoughtful in a sad way
punctual — exact
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Hope is the thing with feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
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There is no frigate like a book
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
frigate — boat
coursers — powerful horses
traverse — travel
oppress — burden
frugal — careful with money
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Autumn
The gentian weaves her fringes: In fall, the poet sees her garden prepare for the cold by weaving bright cloth.
When the flowers depart, their vivid parade ends.
Faith is a fine invention: In this sharp and sassy poem, Emily challenges “gentlemen” who see religion as
superior to science. A microscope lets her examine hidden worlds.
Blazing in gold and quenching in purple: The active words in the poem—which end in “ing”—create a circus
out of a sunset, commanded by the “juggler of day,” the sun.
I never saw a moor: Although she doesn’t know the world far from home, the poet has an imagination. She can
shut her eyes and be wherever she wishes to go.
He fumbles at your spirit: The poet captures the noisy music of a thunderstorm, as if trapped inside a huge
piano. The sounds heighten the drama, until the thunderbolt delivers its mighty blow.
Because I could not stop for Death: A kind carriage driver takes the poet from life to death, past childhood
scenes. At sunset, she sees that her final “house” lies in the burying ground, and that the driver has taken her
toward “eternity,” where time disappears into the journey.
The cricket sang: A cricket’s song helps the sun finish its daily work. When night descends, the day, like a life,
has ended in peace. The poem’s gentle rhymes—“name,” “home,”—create a hymn of farewell.
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Spring
New feet within my garden go: In spring, Emily sees how new creatures—birds, animals, neighbors—arrive in town.
She often thinks of opposites: the young and the “weary,” the spring green and the same ground covered with snow.
Bee, I’m expecting you!: Here’s a letter-poem from a fly to a bee, giving the neighborhood news. Like someone
writing to an absent friend, the poet commands the friend to “be with me,” making a pun on “be”!
Hope is the thing with feathers: The poet sees hope as a brave bird that sings through storm, cold, and
loneliness, yet never asks to be fed “a crumb.” The giving comes from hope, and the poet speaks in grateful awe.
Will there really be a morning?: Six questions in twelve lines! The poem is like a game of hide-and-go-seek,
with sly Emily in her little-girl costume, teasing the “wise” grown-ups.
A word is dead: In twenty syllables, the poet lets her words hatch into life. The only two-syllable word, “begins,”
wakes up human speech and gives it a good “day.”
I send two Sunsets: The poem offers a gift, perhaps of poems about sunsets and stars, written in a contest with
“Day.” The day’s sunset is larger, but hers are easier to carry.
The wind begun to rock the grass: A thunderstorm upsets everything—grass, sky, wagons, birds, and cattle.
Every line of the poem jumps with energy, until the house is spared and only a tree lies broken apart.
A curious cloud surprised the sky: Seeing a strange cloud with horns or antlers, the poet watches it descend,
then arise and move off. When it changes shape, it looks like a queen walking on a satin carpet.
There is no frigate like a book: Reading a poem can take us anywhere in the world, and the journey is free.
Emily’s poems take us to China, Peru, Brazil—even past the earth into the stars.
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Index
“‘Answer, July!,’” 13 “Safe in their alabaster chambers,” 27
“A bird came down the walk,” 11 “The cricket sang,” 26
“A curious cloud surprised the sky,” 44 “The gentian weaves her fringes,” 19
“A narrow fellow in the grass,” 14-15 “The going from a world we know,” 32
“A soft sea washed around the house,” 17 “The spider holds a silver ball,” 30
“A word is dead,” 40 “The wind begun to rock the grass,” 42-43
“Because I could not stop for Death,” 24-25 “There is no frigate like a book,” 45
“Bee, I’m expecting you!,” 36 “There’s a certain slant of light,” 31
“Blazing in gold and quenching in purple,” 21 “They dropped like Flakes,” 12
“Exhilaration is the breeze,” 16 “This is my letter to the world,” 29
“Faith is a fine invention,” 20 “To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,” 16
“From all the jails the boys and girls,” 18 “Will there really be a morning?,” 38-39
“He fumbles at your spirit,” 23
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” 37
“I never saw a moor,” 22
“I send two Sunsets,” 41
“I went to heaven,” 34
“I’m nobody! Who are you?,” 10
“In the name of the Bee,” 9
“It sifts from leaden sieves,” 28
“It’s all I have to bring today,” 8
“Like brooms of steel,” 33
“New feet within my garden go,” 35
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