Emily Dickinson

Although I put away his life,

repetition of opening stanza

The poem cycles back exactly—formal structure mirrors her cyclical obsession. No resolution, just return to the same impossible premise.

Although I put away his life,
An ornament too grand

ornament too grand

She refuses his 'life' as a gift because she's unworthy of it—but 'ornament' suggests something decorative, passive. She's rejecting the role of trophy or possession.

forehead low as mine

Social class marker. 'Low' suggests both humility and actual social rank. Dickinson uses physical anatomy to express hierarchical distance.

For forehead low as mine to wear,
This might have been the hand
That sowed the flowers he preferred,
Or smoothed a homely pain—
Or pushed the pebble from his path,
Or played his chosen tune
On lute the least, the latest,

lute the least, the latest

Paradox: the smallest, most insignificant instrument would be enough if it pleased him. She's offering the smallest possible service as infinite devotion.

But just his ear could know
That what soe'er delighted it
I never would let go.
The foot to bear his errand
A little boot I know

leap abroad like antelope

Sudden wildness—her 'little boot' becomes an animal. She imagines herself transformed by permission to serve, not constrained by it.

Would leap abroad like antelope
With just the grant to do.
His weariest commandment

His weariest commandment

She inverts the hierarchy of pleasure: his most exhausting demand is sweeter than her own childhood games. Service to him replaces her own joy.

A sweeter to obey
Than "Hide and Seek", or skip to flutes,
Or all day chase the bee.
Your servant, Sir, will weary,
The surgeon will not come,
The world will have its own to do,

dust will vex your fame

Mortality intrudes—his reputation will decay. She's offering the only immortality she can: memory through her devotion, not through his achievements.

The dust will vex your fame.
The cold will force your tightest door
Some February day,
But say my apron brings the sticks
To make your cottage gay,
That I may take that promise
To Paradise with me—
To teach the angels avarice

teach the angels avarice

Radical final image: she wants to corrupt heaven itself with desire. Her love is possessive, not selfless—she'd teach heaven to want him as she does.

Your kiss first taught to me!

repetition of opening stanza

The poem cycles back exactly—formal structure mirrors her cyclical obsession. No resolution, just return to the same impossible premise.

Although I put away his life,
An ornament too grand

ornament too grand

She refuses his 'life' as a gift because she's unworthy of it—but 'ornament' suggests something decorative, passive. She's rejecting the role of trophy or possession.

forehead low as mine

Social class marker. 'Low' suggests both humility and actual social rank. Dickinson uses physical anatomy to express hierarchical distance.

For forehead low as mine to wear,
This might have been the hand
That sowed the flowers he preferred,
Or smoothed a homely pain—
Or pushed the pebble from his path,
Or played his chosen tune
On lute the least, the latest,

lute the least, the latest

Paradox: the smallest, most insignificant instrument would be enough if it pleased him. She's offering the smallest possible service as infinite devotion.

But just his ear could know
That what soe'er delighted it
I never would let go.
The foot to bear his errand
A little boot I know

leap abroad like antelope

Sudden wildness—her 'little boot' becomes an animal. She imagines herself transformed by permission to serve, not constrained by it.

Would leap abroad like antelope
With just the grant to do.
His weariest commandment

His weariest commandment

She inverts the hierarchy of pleasure: his most exhausting demand is sweeter than her own childhood games. Service to him replaces her own joy.

A sweeter to obey
Than "Hide and Seek", or skip to flutes,
Or all day chase the bee.
Your servant, Sir, will weary,
The surgeon will not come,
The world will have its own to do,

dust will vex your fame

Mortality intrudes—his reputation will decay. She's offering the only immortality she can: memory through her devotion, not through his achievements.

The dust will vex your fame.
The cold will force your tightest door
Some February day,
But say my apron brings the sticks
To make your cottage gay,
That I may take that promise
To Paradise with me—
To teach the angels avarice

teach the angels avarice

Radical final image: she wants to corrupt heaven itself with desire. Her love is possessive, not selfless—she'd teach heaven to want him as she does.

Your kiss first taught to me!
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Grammar of Refusal and Service

Dickinson constructs this poem as a series of conditional impossibilities: 'This might have been the hand / That sowed the flowers.' She never actually does these things—she only imagines what she could have done. The repeated conditional structure ('might have been,' 'would leap,' 'say my apron brings') keeps her in perpetual subjunctive, never claiming actual agency.

The poem's central paradox is that she 'puts away his life' as too grand for her, yet spends 64 lines detailing exactly how she would serve him if permitted. Each stanza offers smaller and smaller gestures—playing music, carrying messages, obeying commands—until service becomes indistinguishable from self-erasure. Notice how she measures her worth in diminishment: 'a little boot,' 'the lute the least,' 'Your servant, Sir.' The possessive 'Your' appears repeatedly, but it's her possession by him, not the reverse.

The repetition of the opening quatrain at the poem's end is crucial: there is no escape from this logic, no resolution. She returns to the exact same refusal, suggesting this is not a narrative but an obsessive loop. The poem's form enacts what it describes—circular, trapped, unable to move beyond the initial renunciation.

Avarice and the Afterlife

[CONTEXT: Dickinson wrote this in the 1860s, during her most reclusive period, likely about a man who rejected her or was unavailable—possibly her father, a mentor, or an unrequited love.]

The final couplet is shockingly possessive: 'To teach the angels avarice / Your kiss first taught to me!' She doesn't seek spiritual transcendence—she wants to corrupt paradise with greed. 'Avarice' is typically a sin, yet she frames it as something beautiful he taught her. This redefines her devotion not as selfless love but as acquisitive hunger. She's saying: your affection made me covetous, and I'll carry that covetousness into eternity.

This ending transforms the entire poem. All those small gestures of service weren't humble—they were attempts to possess him through usefulness. She wanted to be 'the hand' that sowed his flowers, to own the privilege of his commandments. The poem moves from surface-level self-abnegation to a confession of radical selfishness. She's not offering herself; she's trying to capture him through indispensability. The fact that she imagines teaching angels this 'avarice' suggests she knows her love is transgressive, and she plans to spread it beyond death.