Emily Dickinson

I Tie My Hat i Crease My Shawl

poem 443

I tie my Hat I crease my Shawl Life’s little duties do precisely As the very least Were infinite to me I put new Blossoms in the Glass And throw the old away I push a petal from my gown That anchored there I weigh The time ’twill be till six o’clock I have so much to do And yet Existence some way back Stopped struck my tickling through We cannot put Ourself away As a completed Man Or Woman When the Errand’s done We came to Flesh upon There may be Miles on Miles of Nought Of Action sicker far To simulate is stinging work To cover what we are From Science and from Surgery Too Telescopic Eyes To bear on us unshaded For their sake not for Ours ‘Twould start them We could tremble But since we got a Bomb And held it in our Bosom Nay Hold it it is calm Therefore we do life’s labor Though life’s Reward be done With scrupulous exactness To hold our Senses on

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