I many times thought peace had come

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I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,

And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie.

More poems by Emily Dickinson

Death is a dialogue between / The spirit and the dust.

She died, -- this was the way she died; / And when her breath was done,

As imperceptibly as grief / The summer lapsed away, --

He ate and drank the precious words, / His spirit grew robust;