A House Upon The Height Poem by Emily Dickinson
A House Upon The Height
399
A House upon the Height—
That Wagon never reached—
No Dead, were ever carried down—
No Peddler's Cart—approached—
Whose Chimney never smoked—
Whose Windows—Night and Morn—
Caught Sunrise first—and Sunset—last—
Then—held an Empty Pane—
Whose fate—Conjecture knew—
No other neighbor—did—
And what it was—we never lisped—
Because He—never told—
A mystery that needs Agatha Christy to solve! Perhaps living high on a hill leads to an elevated attitude about oneself and thus people don't visit out of fear a snobby welcome and the years pass and nobody even knows who lives there and if they still do until they don't- - I like the way she put it better!
the heights - too high - can't reach the head, the hands over the emptiness it stands like the pole line - unshaped dead all beneath the roots of it running - driving - tuning with the stormy winds and then losing - and then disappearing the heights - too high; none can reach but the mind - the imaginative mind - the confident faith - all in one day will be Faded glory
This is one of Dickinson's death poems where she told about the stately palace none could be seen coming in and coming out when save the Almighty.......one of the best of all time......10+++
Whose Chimney never smoked— Whose Windows—Night and Morn— Caught Sunrise first—and Sunset—last— Then—held an Empty Pane— Eery atmosphere.
A poem of mystical wonder and spiritual devotion towards the unknown That takes us all on a curious wonder ride.
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11/21/2025 4:53:00 PM # 1.0.0
WOW! ! ! ! ! AWESOME POEMS!