They leave us with the Infinite.
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| ←I had the Glory — that will do — (349) | They leave us with the Infinite. by 350 |
(351) I felt my life with both my hands→ |
They leave us with the Infinite.
But He — is not a man —
His fingers are the size of fists —
His fists, the size of men —
And whom he foundeth, with his Arm
As Himmaleh, shall stand —
Gibraltar's Everlasting Shoe
Poised lightly on his Hand,
So trust him, Comrade —
You for you, and I, for you and me
Eternity is ample,
And quick enough, if true.
| Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list): | |
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