Emily Dickinson

If Anybody’s Friend Be Dead

poem 509

If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive At such and such a time Their costume, of a Sunday, Some manner of the Hair A prank nobody knew but them Lost, in the Sepulchre How warm, they were, on such a day, You almost feel the date So short way off it seems And now they’re Centuries from that How pleased they were, at what you said You try to touch the smile And dip your fingers in the frost When was it Can you tell You asked the Company to tea Acquaintance just a few And chatted close with this Grand Thing That don’t remember you Past Bows, and Invitations Past Interview, and Vow Past what Ourself can estimate That makes the Quick of Woe!

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