121
As Watchers hang upon the East,
As Beggars revel at a feast
By savory Fancy spread—
As brooks in deserts babble sweet
On ear too far for the delight,
Heaven beguiles the tired.
As that same watcher, when the East
Opens the lid of Amethyst
And lets the morning go—
That Beggar, when an honored Guest,
Those thirsty lips to flagons pressed,
Heaven to us, if true.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Dust Is The Only Secret
- All Circumstances Are The Frame
- To Wait An Hour—is Long
- Delayed Till She Had Ceased To Know
- You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot