The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go -- The Crocus -- til she rises The Vassal of the snow -- The lips at Hallelujah Long years of practise bore Til bye and bye these Bargemen Walked singing on the shore. Pearls are the Diver's farthings Extorted from the Sea -- Pinions -- the Seraph's wagon Pedestrian once -- as we -- Night is the morning's Canvas Larceny -- legacy -- Death, but our rapt attention To Immortality. My figures fail to tell me How far the Village lies -- Whose peasants are the Angels -- Whose Cantons dot the skies -- My Classics veil their faces -- My faith that Dark adores -- Which from its solemn abbeys Such ressurection pours.
Personal Postscript — I take this poem from my inheritance (see previous posting), and I take note of the marginalia in that book. Three words appear with question marks: “Death? Resurrection? Skeptical?” I cannot improve now upon my friend’s jottings. I will have to think more about her words and the poet’s words. Well, I turn it over to you. What do you say in response to Emily Dickinson’s poem?