by Emily Dickinson
58
Delayed till she had ceased to know -
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay -
An hour behind the fleeting breath -
Later by just an hour than Death -
Oh lagging Yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be -
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill -
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?
Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round -
Show them this meek appareled thing
That could not stop to be a king -
Doubtful if it be crowned!
Last updated June 21, 2015