You cannot put a fire out;
   A thing that can ignite
 Can go, itself, without a fan
   Upon the slowest night.

 You cannot fold a flood
   And put it in a drawer, --
 Because the winds would find it out,
   And tell your cedar floor.

I really like this poem, because it’s sort of rebellious and revolutionary and because the images are whacko. I keep imagining trying to fold a flood the way I would sheets :-). Also I like the image of the wind whispering quietly to the cedar floor.

Minstrels Links

Emily Dickinson:
Poem #92, There’s a certain Slant of light
Poem #174, A Route of Evanescence
Poem #341, The Grass so little has to do -
Poem #458, The Chariot
Poem #529, If you were coming in the fall
Poem #580, Split the Lark
Poem #687, Success is counted sweetest
Poem #711, I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Poem #829, It dropped so low in my regard
Poem #871, I felt a Funeral, in my Brain
Poem #891, A Doubt If It Be Us
Poem #950, The Cricket Sang
Poem #1294, The reticent volcano keeps