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You love the Lord—you cannot see—
You write Him—every day—
A little note—when you awake—
And further in the Day.
An Ample Letter—How you miss—
And would delight to see—
But then His House—is but a Step—
And Mine's—in Heaven—You see.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Exhilaration—is Within
- It Knew No Medicine
- Frequently The Wood Are Pink
- Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning
- But Little Carmine Hath Her Face