|
To Mrs. J.G. Holland
This austere Afternoon is more becoming to a Patriot than to one whose Friend is it's sole Land. No event of Wind or Bird breaks the Spell of Steel. Nature squanders Rigor - now - where she squandered Love. Chastening - it may be -the Lass that she receiveth. My House is a House of Snow - true - sadly - of few. Mother is asleep in the Library - Vinnie - in the Dining Room - Father - in the Masked Bed - in the Marl House.
How soft his Prison is -When I think of his firm Light - quenched so causelessly, it fritters the worth of much that shines. "Dust unto the Dust" indeed - but the final clause of that marvelous sentence - who has rendered it? "I say unto you.," Father would read at Prayers, with a militant Accent that would startle one. Forgive me if I linger on the first Mystery of the House. It's specific Mystery - each Heart had before - but within this World. Father's was the first Act distinctly of the Spirit. Austin's Family went to Geneva, and Austin lived with us four weeks. It seemed peculiar - pathetic - and Antideluvian. We missed his while he was with us and missed him when he was gone. All is so very curious. Thank you for that "New Year" - the first with a fracture. I trust it is whole and hale - to you. "Kingsley" rejoins "Argemone" - Thank you for the Affection. It helps me up the Stars at Night, where as I passed my Father's Door - I used to think was safety. The Hand that plucked the Clover - I seek, and am Emily.
dickinson/holland correspondence main page | dickinson electronic archives main menu
|