POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
Perhaps the kingdom of Heaven’s changed!
I hope the children there
Won’t be new-fashioned when I come,
And laugh at me, and stare!
I hope the children there
Won’t be new-fashioned when I come,
And laugh at me, and stare!
I hope the father in the skies
Will lift his little girl,—
Old-fashioned, naughty, everything,—
Over the stile of pearl!
Will lift his little girl,—
Old-fashioned, naughty, everything,—
Over the stile of pearl!
XXI
AN awful tempest mashed the air,
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre’s cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre’s cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.
The creatures chuckled on the roofs
And whistled in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth,
And swung their frenzied hair.
And whistled in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth,
And swung their frenzied hair.
The morning lit, the birds arose;
The monster’s faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast.
And peace was Paradise!
The monster’s faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast.
And peace was Paradise!
XXII
AN everywhere of silver,
With ropes of sand
To keep it from effacing
The track called land.
With ropes of sand
To keep it from effacing
The track called land.
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