Wild Nights

True story. Yesterday, after I finished writing the entry about the photo of me at age 16, wearing my grandmother’s wedding dress and dancing in the garden, I opened my volume of Emily’s poems at random. I slipped the photo between the pages without looking at the place I had selected . . . totally at RANDOM. No lie.

This morning, I opened my book and fanned the pages until I reached the place where the photo had landed. There I was, dancing in the garden on page 115. The page facing me contained the following remarks from Emily:

#249, c. 1861

Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our Luxury

Futile — the winds
To a Heart in port —
Done with the Compass —
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden —
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor — Tonight —
In Thee!

Curiouser and curiouser. Emily, what are you doing? Are you trying to send me a message? Do you know something I don’t? Or is this all just a tease?

(Can’t help but notice here that Emily wrote a great deal about the sea, while she lived in a land-locked village. For her the ocean must have been more a theoretical than a lived experience. Still, it spoke to her.)

Okay, so . . . it seems clear that the Poet here addresses her passionate attention to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. That uppercased “Thee” at the end could only be a reference to the Son of God. Right? Of course, right. I’d stake my reputation on this assertion.

Also . . . if Emily were my daughter, I would not let her out of the house at night. Not that that would stop her, but it might slow her down a little.

This poem makes me sweat. Maybe it’s the weather. Or I’m having a hot flash. Something is up.

Lunar eclipse and full moon tonight. Look alive.

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