Emily Dickinson

Unit, Like Death, For Whom?

poem 408

Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him The Grave is strict Tickets admit Just two the Bearer And the Borne And seat just One The Living tell The Dying but a Syllable The Coy Dead None No Chatter here no tea So Babbler, and Bohea stay there But Gravity and Expectation and Fear A tremor just, that All’s not sure.

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