POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
And so, upon this wise I prayed,—
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.
A smile suffused Jehovah’s face;
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.
I left the place with all my might,—
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,
That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true
That “Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you.”
As take the tale for true
That “Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you.”
But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
With a suspicious air,—
As children, swindled for the first,
All swindlers be, infer.
With a suspicious air,—
As children, swindled for the first,
All swindlers be, infer.
XL
THE thought beneath so slight a film
Is more distinctly seen,—
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.
Is more distinctly seen,—
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.
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