< Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
193
POEMS.
XII.
As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here,—
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!
13
This article is issued from
Wikisource.
The text is licensed under Creative
Commons - Attribution - Sharealike.
Additional terms may apply for the media files.