The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,--
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Besides The Autumn Poets Sing
- All Forgot For Recollecting
- Did Our Best Moment Last
- An Awful Tempest Mashed The Air
- How Happy Is The Little Stone