Emily Dickinson

Till Death is Narrow Loving

poem 907

Till Death is narrow Loving The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness be spent But He whose loss procures you Such Destitution that Your Life too abject for itself Thenceforward imitate Until Resemblance perfect Yourself, for His pursuit Delight of Nature abdicate Exhibit Love somewhat

Don't have an account?

You will be identified by the alias - name will be hidden
user