920
We can but follow to the Sun—
As oft as He go down
He leave Ourselves a Sphere behind—
'Tis mostly—following—
We go no further with the Dust
Than to the Earthen Door—
And then the Panels are reversed—
And we behold—no more.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Spider Holds A Silver Ball
- The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man,
- To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave
- I Am Alive - I Guess
- Never For Society