Emily Dickinson

[Peukaloisen retket]

Ehana!

[Hexa]

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
and I my Robert Frost,
and we note our place with bookmarkers
that measure what we've lost

[Peukaloisen retket]

WE thirst at first,—’t is Nature’s act;
And later, when we die,
A little water supplicate
Of fingers going by.

It intimates the finer want,
Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
Termed immortality.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.

SOME Days retired from the rest
In soft distinction lie,
The Day that a companion came—
Or was obliged to die.

But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
With a suspicious air,—
As children, swindled for the first,
All swindlers be, infer.