Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Surrender

Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,
What more the woman can, --
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!

It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;
I ceded all of dust I knew, --
What opulence the more
Had I, a humble maiden,
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise —
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire's Eyes —
Winnow her finest fondness —
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake —
Oh, Caviler, for you!

1. A Poor Torn Heart, a Tattered Heart
2. The Show
3. A Thought Went up My Mind To-day
4. Too Much
5. Delight Becomes Pictorial

Edith Nesbit Surrender ("OH, the nights were dark and cold")

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