Emily Dickinson

Although I Put Away His Life

poem 366

Although I put away his life An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear, This might have been the Hand That sowed the flower, he preferred Or smoothed a homely pain, Or pushed the pebble from his path Or played his chosen tune On Lute the least the latest But just his Ear could know That whatsoe’er delighted it, I never would let go The foot to bear his errand A little Boot I know Would leap abroad like Antelope With just the grant to do His weariest Commandment A sweeter to obey, Than Hide and Seek Or skip to Flutes Or all Day, chase the Bee Your Servant, Sir, will weary The Surgeon, will not come The World, will have its own to do The Dust, will vex your Fame The Cold will force your tightest door Some February Day, But say my apron bring the sticks To make your Cottage gay That I may take that promise To Paradise, with me To teach the Angels, avarice, You, Sir, taught first to me.

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