Some Favored Nook, Pt. 1: No. 1, To Tell Me What Is True?

DICKINSON:

Mr. Higginson,

Are you too deeply occupied to say if my

verse is alive?

The mind is so near itself It cannot see distinctly, And I have none to ask.

Should you think it breathed,

And had you the leisure to tell me, I should feel quick gratitude.

HIGGINSON:

The letter was postmarked “Amherst,” In a handwriting so peculiar

As if the writer might have taken her

first lessons

By studying fossil bird-tracks.

DICKINSON:

If I make the mistake,

That you dared to tell me

Would give me sincerer honor toward you.

HIGGINSON:

Of punctuation there was little;

She used chiefly dashes

But the most curious thing

Was the total absence of a signature. As if the shy writer wished to recede As far as possible from view

—in pencil, not in ink.

DICKINSON:

I inclose my name, asking you, If you please, sir,

To tell me what is true?

HIGGINSON:

The name was Emily Dickinson.

DICKINSON:

That you will not betray me It is needless to ask,

Since honor is its own pawn.