Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Along the Potomac

When I was small, a woman died.
To-day her only boy
Went up from the Potomac,
His face all victory,

To look at her; how slowly
The seasons must have turned
Till bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round!

If pride shall be in Paradise
I never can decide;
Of their imperial conduct,
No person testified.

But proud in apparition,
That woman and her boy
Pass back and forth before my brain,
As ever in the sky.

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

Print

1304 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version