POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
LI
IT tossed and tossed,—
A little brig I knew,—
O’ertook by blast,
It spun and spun,
And groped delirious, for morn.
A little brig I knew,—
O’ertook by blast,
It spun and spun,
And groped delirious, for morn.
It slipped and slipped,
As one that drunken stepped;
Its white foot tripped,
Then dropped from sight.
As one that drunken stepped;
Its white foot tripped,
Then dropped from sight.
Ah, brig, good-night
To crew and you;
The ocean’s heart too smooth, too blue,
To break for you.
To crew and you;
The ocean’s heart too smooth, too blue,
To break for you.
LII
VICTORY comes late,
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To take it.
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To take it.
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