Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

I know that He exists.
Somewhere -- in Silence --
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.

'Tis an instant's play.
'Tis a fond Ambush --
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!

But -- should the play
Prove piercing earnest --
Should the glee -- glaze --
In Death's -- stiff -- stare --

Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest --
Have crawled too far!

1. Contrast
2. Ventures
3. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
4. Philosophy
5. This Merit Hath the Worst

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