Emily Dickinson

Promise This when You Be Dying

poem 648

Promise This When You be Dying Some shall summon Me Mine belong Your latest Sighing Mine to Belt Your Eye Not with Coins though they be Minted From an Emperor’s Hand Be my lips the only Buckle Your low Eyes demand Mine to stay when all have wandered To devise once more If the Life be too surrendered Life of Mine restore Poured like this My Whole Libation Just that You should see Bliss of Death Life’s Bliss extol thro’ Imitating You Mine to guard Your Narrow Precinct To seduce the Sun Longest on Your South, to linger, Largest Dews of Morn To demand, in Your low favor Lest the Jealous Grass Greener lean Or fonder cluster Round some other face Mine to supplicate Madonna If Madonna be Could behold so far a Creature Christ omitted Me Just to follow Your dear future Ne’er so far behind For My Heaven Had I not been Most enough denied?

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