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   Chapter 116 No.116

Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete By Emily Dickinson Characters: 704

Updated: 2017-12-01 00:03


I bring an unaccustomed wine

To lips long parching, next to mine,

And summon them to drink.

Crackling with fever, they essay;

I turn my brimming eyes away,

And come next hour to look.

The hands still hug the tardy glass;

The lips I would have cooled, alas!

Are so superfluous cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm

The boso

ms where the frost has lain

Ages beneath the mould.

Some other thirsty there may be

To whom this would have pointed me

Had it remained to speak.

And so I always bear the cup

If, haply, mine may be the drop

Some pilgrim thirst to slake, -

If, haply, any say to me,

"Unto the little, unto me,"

When I at last awake.

* * *

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