by Emily Dickinson
Because He loves Her
We will pry and see if she is fair
What difference is on her Face
From Features others wear.
It will not harm her magic pace
That we so far behind --
Her Distances propitiate
As Forests touch the Wind
Not hoping for his notice vast
But nearer to adore
'Tis Glory's far sufficiency
That makes our trying poor.
Last updated September 16, 2011