I meant to find her when I came;
  Death had the same design;
But the success was his, it seems,
  And the discomfit mine.
I meant to tell her how I longed
  For just this single time;
But Death had told her so the first,
  And she had hearkened him.
To wander now is my abode;
  To rest,—to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
  To memory and me.

  • 0
  • 0
Login to comment...

Other works by Emily Dickinson...

Some poets who follow Emily Dickinson...

Lxnnnie Rutledzh Arianna Buchholz Shuvam Sangoch Daniella Nastashia Da Silva Shemené Kok Tourniquet