THE TULIP - She slept beneath a tree
She slept beneath a tree / Remembered but by me.
OF Death the sharpest function
❦
OF Death the sharpest function,
That, just as we discern,
The Excellence defies us;
Securest gathered then
The fruit perverse to plucking,
But leaning to the sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
THE WAKING YEAR - A lady red upon the hill
A lady red upon the hill / Her annual secret keeps;
Let down the bars, O Death
Let down the bars, O Death! / The tired flocks come in
THE MYSTERY OF PAIN - Pain has an element of blank
Pain has an element of blank; / It cannot recollect