Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 36
Chapter 108 of 146 · 1 min read
TILL THE END.
I should not dare to leave my friend, Because — because if he should die While I was gone, and I — too late — Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes That hunted, hunted so, to see, And could not bear to shut until They "noticed" me — they noticed me;
If I should stab the patient faith So sure I 'd come — so sure I 'd come, It listening, listening, went to sleep Telling my tardy name, —
My heart would wish it broke before, Since breaking then, since breaking then, Were useless as next morning's sun, Where midnight frosts had lain!
XXXVII.
VOID.
Great streets of silence led away To neighborhoods of pause; Here was no notice, no dissent, No universe, no laws.
By clocks 't was morning, and for night The bells at distance called; But epoch had no basis here, For period exhaled.
XXXVIII.
A throe upon the features A hurry in the breath, An ecstasy of parting Denominated "Death," —
An anguish at the mention, Which, when to patience grown, I 've known permission given To rejoin its own.
