Emily Dickinson

If I May Have It, When It’s Dead

poem 577

If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented so If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me Until they lock it in the Grave, ‘Tis Bliss I cannot weigh For tho’ they lock Thee in the Grave, Myself can own the key Think of it Lover! I and Thee Permitted face to face to be After a Life a Death We’ll say For Death was That And this is Thee I’ll tell Thee All how Bald it grew How Midnight felt, at first to me How all the Clocks stopped in the World And Sunshine pinched me ’Twas so cold Then how the Grief got sleepy some As if my Soul were deaf and dumb Just making signs across to Thee That this way thou could’st notice me I’ll tell you how I tried to keep A smile, to show you, when this Deep All Waded We look back for Play, At those Old Times in Calvary, Forgive me, if the Grave come slow For Coveting to look at Thee Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost Outvisions Paradise!

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