To mend each tattered Faith
There is a needle fair
Though no appearance indicate
'Tis threaded in the Air
And though it do not wear
As if it never Tore
'Tis very comfortable indeed
And spacious as before
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- If Nature Smiles - The Mother Must
- I Make His Crescent Fill Or Lack
- Pigmy Seraphs—gone Astray
- Of All The Sounds Despatched Abroad
- Morning—means