52
Whether my bark went down at sea—
Whether she met with gales—
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails—
By what mystic mooring
She is held today—
This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the Bay.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Chemical Conviction
- What Inn Is This
- I Could Not Drink It, Sweet
- There Is A Languor Of The Life
- Who Occupies This House?