Poem 286


Emily Dickinson

That after Horror--that 'twas us--

That passed the mouldering Pier--

Just as the Granite Crumb let go--

Our Savior, by a Hair--

A second more, had dropped too deep

For Fisherman to plumb--

The very profile of the Thought

Puts recollection numb

The possibility--to pass

Without a Moment's Bell--

Into Conjecture's presence--

Is like a face of Steel--

That suddenly looks into ours

With a metallic grin--

The Cordiality of Death--

Who drills his Welcome in--


Go Back