It's strange to think of Emily Dickinson writing about wild night because she shut herself away from society and never had any, to my knowledge.
There are few poets less likely to wake up with a hangover and have vague and half remembered images of the night before. And let's face is, most of us have had a few of those mornings.
But poetry embraces the spectrum. Dickinson was the antithesis of Lord Bryon. If you found yourself sitting next to her at a dinner party, chances are, you'd probably stab yourself with a sharp knife to be taken away by the paramedics.
But Dickinson and Lord Bryon are both great poets, sitting as they do at the opposing ends of the spectrum.
Wild Nights, Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson
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 moor – Tonight –
In thee!
