261
Put up my lute!
What of—my Music!
Since the sole ear I cared to charm—
Passive—as Granite—laps My Music—
Sobbing—will suit—as well as psalm!
Would but the "Memnon" of the Desert—
Teach me the strain
That vanquished Him—
When He—surrendered to the Sunrise—
Maybe—that—would awaken—them!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Not In This World To See His Face
- The Whole Of It Came Not At Once
- I Know Lives, I Could Miss
- The Lady Feeds Her Little Bird
- It's Such A Little Thing To Weep