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
  •  
  •  
Entrar para comentar...
Email

Otras obras de Emily Dickinson...

Algunos poetas que siguen a Emily Dickinson...

saaleha i bamjee SueDot Belu Peluffo Elisa Hammond Hannah Milly Antcord