Glory is that bright tragic thing
That for an instant
Means Dominion -
Warms some poor name
That never felt the Sun,
Gently replacing
In oblivion -
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- His voice decrepit was with Joy
- Whose Pink career may have a close
- Escape is such a thankful Word
- The Bat Is Dun With Wrinkled Wings
- Could Hope Inspect Her Basis