"Reminds me of her poem:

We would not leave our native home
For any world beyond the Tomb.
No - rather on thy kindly breast
Let us be laid in lasting rest;
Or waken but to share with thee
A mutual immortality.

Do you think she believed that self-awareness or consciousness continued after death? "

"Picture the scene: at the same time that the Bronte girls were mooching about the moors, Thoreau was wandering the woods."

"God alone knows for sure. Still, to communicate verbally or through the written word presupposes that one means to be understood."

"I think it's meant to be understood by both the author and the reader. I think poetry's often very difficult to be understood; as life is, but the potential rewards justify the effort. Emily is easier for me to relate to than some, I suppose, because I feel I can relate to the sufferings of her, in some ways, self-imposed isolation."

"I think I follow you; but my inclination would be to argue in favor of trying to get at the 'original intent' of the author at the time the poem's written. (I guess I'm a strict constructionist).

We can be glad Emily left us a wealth of poetry which we can follow the chronologically, with reasonable accuracy, and try to gain a whole picture of her life. Seeming contradictions only add to the fascination. Consider the last four lines of her poem beginning: "I am the only being whose doom no tongue would ask ... "

"'Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow, servile, insincere,
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there."

I read in those lines a ruthless honesty that might have given birth in her to either humility or a further hardening in pride.

I posted Marvell's 'Definition of Love' because it's one of my favorites and one I think Emily also would have liked. I appreciate your comments."

"I think I follow you; but my inclination would be to argue in favor of trying to get at the 'original intent' of the author at the time the poem's written. (I guess I'm a strict constructionist).

We can be glad Emily left us a wealth of poetry which we can follow the chronologically, with reasonable accuracy, and try to gain a whole picture of her life. Seeming contradictions only add to the fascination. Consider the last four lines of her poem beginning: "I am the only being whose doom no tongue would ask ... "

"'Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow, servile, insincere,
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there."

I read in those lines a ruthless honesty that might have given birth in her to either humility or a further hardening in pride.

I posted Marvell's 'Definition of Love' because it's one of my favorites and one I think Emily also would have liked. I appreciate your comments."