On that dear Frame the Years had worn

On that dear Frame the Years had worn
Yet precious as the House
In which We first experienced Light
The Witnessing, to Us—

Precious! It was conceiveless fair
As Hands the Grave had grimed
Should softly place within our own
Denying that they died.

      -F924, J940, sheet 13, 1865


In this poem you have a photograph in a frame, which is in turn framed by a house, framed by a poem; a frame inside a frame inside a frame. 

On that dear Frame the Years had worn

The frame is dear. Dickinson is not telling us who is in the photograph in the frame in the center of this poem, but we find out in the last line of the poem that it is someone who "died," so we can infer that it is a loved one, maybe a family member, or maybe even some writer Emily revered. (We know she had images in her room of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and George Eliot.) 

The memory of this person is kept alive through the image. This memory, made more real through the image, is as precious as the House “in which We first experienced Light.” "Light" could mean a few things. I take it as literal first. It refers to the house in which we were born, where we first opened our eyes and saw physical light. (Whatever may be meant metaphorically by "Light" is up to the reader).

This is especially pertinent because the house that Emily was born in, where she first saw “Light,” is the same house she was in when she wrote this poem 35 years later, and the same one in which she would die some 20 years after it was written. The house itself is a frame for memories. In fact, you can go to the Dickinson homestead tomorrow, if you wish, and walk inside of this frame, Emily’s ghost all around.

"Precious" is repeated twice in this poem, underscoring it. And look at the way that first stanza sets up that second “Precious!” for maximum impact: there are four lines of iambic meter that roll nonstop before pausing for a comma, a beat, then a dash at the end of the stanza: 

The Witnessing, to Us—

which resolves after a suspenseful stanza break into... 

Precious!

What is so precious? "The Witnessing, to Us—" It is the witnessing of life itself, summed up in this poem as an image of a loved one.

The poem though is missing the photograph. We can't see who is in this frame, the words can only point to it, so in a sense it is less about the actual photograph than it is about "The Witnessing."  

(I'm reminded of hearing Southern Baptists preachers shout, “Can I get a witness!”)

The poem turns its attention to the reader witnessing the poem. The poet is reminding us to give our love a solid frame, one that will help keep it precious.

Not only is the memory double-precious, but the person we love is "conceiveless fair,” which is to say so fair that you can’t even conceive of it. Could you explain the physical beauty of one you loved in such a way that another could conceive of it? No, and not even a photograph could do that. A photograph is only an aid to memory.

As Hands the Grave had grimed
Should softly place within our own

Wow. That image of grimy bones reaching up out of the grave and softly placing before us the image of its past living self is worthy of a great ghost story. It’s a very haunting way of seeing a photograph, tender and terrible at once.

Denying that they died.

The idea that the dead, through the photograph, are denying to us that they died is touching. Through our memories the dead deny -and defy- death itself.

The photograph is to the face as the poem is to the mind. In the poem we have the mind of Dickinson framed, as if her grimy skeleton hand is softly placing it within our own.

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff