985
The Missing All—prevented Me
From missing minor Things.
If nothing larger than a World's
Departure from a Hinge—
Or Sun's extinction, be observed—
'Twas not so large that I
Could lift my Forehead from my work
For Curiosity.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Tho' I Get Home How Late—how Late
- Once More, My Now Bewildered Dove
- There Is A Finished Feeling
- Tho' My Destiny Be Fustian
- Perhaps I Asked Too Large