Emily Dickinson

A Poor Torn Heart A Tattered Heart

poem 78

A poor torn heart a tattered heart That sat it down to rest Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West Nor noticed Night did soft descend Nor Constellation burn Intent upon the vision Of latitudes unknown. The angels happening that way This dusty heart espied Tenderly took it up from toil And carried it to God There sandals for the Barefoot There gathered from the gales Do the blue havens by the hand Lead the wandering Sails.

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