Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

I died for Beauty — but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room —

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied —
"And I — for Truth—Themself are One —
We Bretheren, are", He said —

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms —
Until the Moss had reached our lips —
And covered up — our names —

1. The Riddle We Can Guess
2. So Bashful When I Spied Her
3. Safe in Their Alabaster Chambers
4. The Martyrs
5. The Thought Beneath So Slight a Film

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