Emily Dickinson

This Chasm, Sweet, Upon My Life

poem 858

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure drop The Day must follow too. If we demur, its gaping sides Disclose as ’twere a Tomb Ourself am lying straight wherein The Favorite of Doom. When it has just contained a Life Then, Darling, it will close And yet so bolder every Day So turbulent it grows I’m tempted half to stitch it up With a remaining Breath I should not miss in yielding, though To Him, it would be Death And so I bear it big about My Burial before A Life quite ready to depart Can harass me no more

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