Emily Dickinson

All the letters I can write

Exact repetition

Dickinson copied the entire stanza verbatim. This isn't a second verse—it's emphasis, obsession, or possibly two manuscript versions preserved together.

All the letters I can write
Are not fair as this,
Syllables of velvet,

Textile language

**Velvet** and **plush** are fabrics—she's describing a kiss as if it were woven material. The physical texture of words becomes the physical texture of lips.

Sentences of plush,

Ruby undrained

**Ruby** = red = blood = life force. **Undrained** means full, untapped. She's holding something vital in reserve, waiting to be consumed.

Depths of ruby, undrained,
Hid, lip, for thee—
Play it were a humming bird

Hummingbird feeding

Hummingbirds sip nectar—quick, delicate, extracting sweetness. **Play** means 'pretend' here. She wants the kiss to be light, not draining her completely.

And just sipped me!
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Letter That Isn't Written

This poem is about a kiss disguised as commentary on letters. Dickinson opens by comparing her written correspondence to something else—something fairer, better, more valuable. But she never describes an actual letter. Instead, she catalogs physical sensations: velvet, plush, ruby depths, lips, sipping.

The trick is in "Hid, lip, for thee"—those compressed three words. Hid = hidden, concealed. Lip = the kiss itself. For thee = saved for you. She's not writing about letters at all. She's writing about a kiss she's holding back, keeping in reserve, and the poem becomes the substitute for both the letter and the kiss.

CONTEXT Dickinson wrote nearly 1,800 poems but published fewer than a dozen in her lifetime. Many poems were sent in letters to correspondents, including Susan Gilbert Dickinson (her sister-in-law and possibly romantic interest) and Thomas Wentworth Higginson. The line between poem and letter was porous for her—poems often *were* the letters.

Why Repeat the Whole Thing?

The exact repetition of the entire stanza is unusual even for Dickinson. Three possibilities: (1) She sent two versions and editors preserved both, (2) She intended the repetition as emphasis—the way you might say something twice when overcome, or (3) It's a manuscript error that became canonical.

The repetition changes the reading. First time through, you might think she's being metaphorical. Second time, the physicality intensifies. "Just sipped me" becomes more urgent, more embodied. The poem doesn't develop or progress—it insists, circles back, refuses to move past the moment of withheld contact.

Notice "Play it were" (pretend it were) versus the reality of what she's actually doing: writing this poem instead of giving that kiss. The hummingbird is the fantasy of lightness, of taking only a sip. But the "Depths of ruby, undrained" suggests she's full of something heavier, darker, more sustaining than nectar.