After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372) BY EMILY DICKINSON After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? The Feet, mechanical, go round – A Wooden way Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone – This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go – Much Madness is divinest Sense - (620) BY EMILY DICKINSON Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense - the starkest Madness - ’Tis the Majority In this, as all, prevail - Assent - and you are sane - Demur - you’re straightway dangerous - And handled with a Chain - I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, (340) BY EMILY DICKINSON I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading - treading - till it seemed That Sense was breaking through - And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum - Kept beating - beating - till I thought My mind was going numb - And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space - began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race, Wrecked, solitary, here - And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down - And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing - then - We grow accustomed to the dark By Emily Dickinson We grow accustomed to the Dark -  When light is put away -  As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Goodbye -  A Moment - We uncertain step For newness of the night -  Then - fit our Vision to the Dark -  And meet the Road - erect -  And so of larger - Darknesses -  Those Evenings of the Brain -  When not a Moon disclose a sign -  Or Star - come out - within -  The Bravest - grope a little -  And sometimes hit a Tree Directly in the Forehead -  But as they learn to see -  Either the Darkness alters -  Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight -  And Life steps almost straight.  I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce - Poem by Emily Dickinson I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? 'For beauty,' I replied. 'And I for truth,--the two are one; We brethren are,' he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.  I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - (591) BY EMILY DICKINSON I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air - Between the Heaves of Storm - The Eyes around - had wrung them dry - And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset - when the King Be witnessed - in the Room - I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away What portion of me be Assignable - and then it wa.

1. After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
Much Madness is divinest Sense - (620)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -
’Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you’re straightway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, (340)

2. BY EMILY DICKINSON
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -
We grow accustomed to the dark
By Emily Dickinson
We grow accustomed to the Dark -
When light is put away -
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye -
A Moment - We uncertain step

3. For newness of the night -
Then - fit our Vision to the Dark -
And meet the Road - erect -
And so of larger - Darknesses -
Those Evenings of the Brain -
When not a Moon disclose a sign -
Or Star - come out - within -
The Bravest - grope a little -
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead -
But as they learn to see -
Either the Darkness alters -
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight -
And Life steps almost straight.
I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce - Poem by Emily Dickinson
I died for beauty but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
'For beauty,' I replied.
'And I for truth,--the two are one;
We brethren are,' he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - (591)
BY EMILY DICKINSON

4. I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -
The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -
I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -
With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – (236)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I, just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along.

5. The brain is wider than the sky
By Emily Dickinson
THE BRAIN is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.
The brain is deeper than the sea,
5
For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
As sponges, buckets do.
The brain is just the weight of God,
For, lift them, pound for pound,
10
And they will differ, if they do,
As syllable from sound.
Dream Deferred
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
What happens to a dream deferred?

6. Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Same in Blues
By Langston Hughes
I said to my baby,
Baby, take it slow.
I can't, she said, I can't!
I got to go!
There's a certain
amount of traveling
in a dream deferred.
Lulu said to Leonard,
I want a diamond ring.
Leonard said to Lulu,
You won't get a goddamn thing!
A certain
amount of nothing

7. in a dream deferred.
Daddy, daddy, daddy,
All I want is you.
You can have me baby—
but my lovin' days is through.
A certain
amount of impotence
in a dream deferred.
Three parties
On my party line—
But that third party,
Lord, ain't mine!
There's liable
to be confusion
in a dream deferred.
From river to river,
Uptown and down,
There's liable to be confusion
when a dream gets kicked around.
The Negro Speaks of RiversLangston Hughes, 1902 - 1967I’ve
known rivers:I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older
than the flow of human blood in human veins.My soul has
grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when
dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled
me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids
above it.I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe
Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.I’ve known rivers:Ancient,
dusky rivers.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

8. Mother To Son
Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
I, Too
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.

9. Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
My People - Poem by Langston Hughes
The night is beautiful,
So the faces of my people.
The stars are beautiful,
So the eyes of my people.
Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.
Theme for English BLangston Hughes, 1902 - 1967The
instructor said,Go home and writea page tonight.And let that
page come out of you—Then, it will be true.I wonder if it’s that
simple?I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.I went
to school there, then Durham, then hereto this college on the
hill above Harlem.I am the only colored student in my class.The
steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,through a park, then I
cross St. Nicholas,Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the
Y,the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevatorup to my
room, sit down, and write this page:It’s not easy to know what
is true for you or me at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m
what I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:hear you, hear
me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.(I hear New York,
too.) Me—who?Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.I

10. like to work, read, learn, and understand life.I like a pipe for a
Christmas present,or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.I guess
being colored doesn’t make me not likethe same things other
folks like who are other races.So will my page be colored that I
write?Being me, it will not be white. But it will bea part of you,
instructor. You are white— yet a part of me, as I am a part of
you. That’s American.Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be
a part of me. Nor do I often want to be a part of you.But we are,
that’s true! As I learn from you, I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white— and somewhat more
free.This is my page for English B.