The love for nature was part of many poems written by Emily Dickinson. As part of our Emily Dickinson Month, it is time for the poem Bring me the sunset in a cup.
In this poem, Dickinson does not only show her love for nature. She decided to go for a more obscure approach to describe her love.
She wants to fill a cup, with sunshine. She needs flasks of dew, to start her day with. The “morning leaps” she describes are the sunbeams that brighten up the morning sky. A sky that is going to be lit, as soon as the weaverbird awakes. The world we live in, she compares it to the nest of this bird.
There is so much beauty to be found in nature. Dickinson names a few in her second stanza: the robins (birds), the tortoise, the bees and (again), those drops of dew. These drops make the bees intoxicated with the sweetness of the dew.
Nature isn’t complete when there is no rainbow. A rainbow is something magical and can be inspiring to write about. Who is responsible for the creation of this rainbow bridge? Who is to follow that bridge? So many questions! Who is counting the stars at night? Dickinson claims that is necessary, because without counting it is uncertain to check if everything is in place.
In the last part of the poem, we read that she wants to know who has created this house she knows so well. In fact, this is her world and she seeks an answer to find out who is responsible for the creation of her world. There is this inability to see the one who created her world and herself.
Bring me the sunset in a cup
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps—
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!
Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs—
How many trips the Tortoise makes—
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!
Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite—
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?
Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,