[Transcriber’s note: As published in the Springfield Daily Republican on 20 February 1852, the poem is a forest of exclamation points and a thicket of quotation marks. And shuffled into the staid stanza form familiar to 19th-century readers. It also included a flattering invitation from the editor, apparently eager for more.]
“A Valentine” (from Springfield Republican [Springfield, Massachusetts] 20 February 1852; p. 2)
The hand that wrote the following amusing medley to a gentleman friend of ours, as “a valentine,” is capable of writing very fine things, and there is certainly no presumption in entertaining a private wish that a correspondence, more direct than this, may be established between it and the Republican:
“Sic transit gloria mundi,”
“How doth the busy bee,”
“Dum vivimus vivamus,”
I stay mine enemy!
Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh “memento mori”
When I am far from thee!
Hurrah for Peter Parley!
Hurrah for Daniel Boon!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
Who first observed the moon!
Peter, put up the sunshine;
Pattie, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
And call your brother Mars!
Put down the apple, Adam,
And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
From off my father’s tree!
I climb the “Hill of Science,”
I “view the landscape o’er;”
Such transcendental prospect,
I ne’er beheld before!
Unto the Legislature
My country bids me go;
I’ll take my india rubbers,
In case the wind should blow!
During my education,
It was announced to me
That gravitation, stumbling,
Fell from an apple tree!
The earth upon an axis
Was once supposed to turn,
By way of a gymnastic
In honor of the sun!
It was the brave Columbus,
A sailing o’er the tide,
Who notified the nations
Of where I would reside!
Mortality is fatal—
Gentility is fine,
Rascality, heroic,
Insolvency, sublime!
Our Fathers being weary,
Laid down on Bunker Hill;
And tho’ full many a morning,
Yet they are sleeping still,—
The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
In dreams I see them rise,
Each with a solemn musket
A marching to the skies!
A coward will remain, Sir,
Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
Will take his hat, and run!
Good bye, Sir, I am going;
My country calleth me;
Allow me, Sir, at parting,
To wipe my weeping e’e.
In token of our friendship
Accept this “Bonnie Doon,”
And when the hand that plucked it
Hath passed beyond the moon,
The memory of my ashes
Will consolation be;
Then, farewell, Tuscarora,
And farewell, Sir, to thee!
St Valentine—’52.
[Transcriber’s note: The poem is a somewhat tamer production in The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Variorum Edition (ed. R. W. Franklin. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Belknap Press, 1998. Vol 1; pp. 51-53): fewer exclamation marks, no italics. (And transcribed here without permission.)]
“Sic Transit Gloria Mundi,” by Emily Dickinson (1852)
Sic transic gloria mundi
“How doth the busy bee”
Dum vivamus vivamus
I stay mine enemy!—
Oh veni vidi vici!
Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh “memento mori”
When I am far from thee
Hurrah for Peter Parley
Hurrah for Daniel Boone
Three cheers sir, for the gentleman
Who first observed the moon—
Peter put up the sunshine!
Pattie arrange the stars
Tell Luna, tea is waiting
And call your brother Mars—
Put down the apple Adam
And come away with me
So shal’t thou have a pippin
From off my Father’s tree!
I climb the “Hill of Science”
I “view the Landscape o’er”
Such transcendental prospect
I ne’er beheld before!—
Unto the Legislature
My country bids me go,
I’ll take my india rubbers
In case the wind should blow.
During my education
It was announced to me
That gravitation stumbling
Fell from an apple tree—
The Earth upon its axis
Was once supposed to turn
By way of a gymnastic
In honor to the sun—
It was the brave Columbus
A sailing o’er the tide
Who notified the nations
Of where I would reside
Mortality is fatal
Gentility is fine
Rascality, heroic
Insolvency, sublime
Our Fathers being weary
Laid down on Bunker Hill
And though full many a morn’g
Yet they are sleeping still
The trumpet sir, shall wake them
In streams I see them rise
Each with a solemn musket
A marching to the skies!
A coward will remain, Sir,
Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
Will take his hat and run.
Good bye Sir, I am going
My country calleth me
Allow me Sir, at parting
To wipe my weeping e’e
In token of our friendship
Accept this “Bonnie Doon”
And when the hand that pluck’d it
Hath passed beyond the moon
The memory of my ashes
Will consolation be
Then farewell Tuscarora
And farewell Sir, to thee.