Poem 338


Emily Dickinson

I know that He exists.

Somewhere--in Silence--

He has hid his rare life

From our gross eyes.

'Tis an instant's play.

'Tis a fond Ambush--

Just to make Bliss

Earn her own surprise!

But--should the play

Prove piercing earnest--

Should the glee--glaze--

In Death's--stiff--stare--

Would not the fun

Look too expensive!

Would not the jest--

Have crawled too far!


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