You who desired so much--in vain to ask--
Yet fed you hunger like an endless task,
Dared dignify the labor, bless the quest--
Achieved that stillness ultimately best,

Being, of all, least sought for: Emily, hear!
O sweet, dead Silencer, most suddenly clear
When singing that Eternity possessed
And plundered momently in every breast; 

--Truly no flower yet withers in your hand.
The harvest you descried and understand
Needs more than wit to gather, love to bind.
Some reconcilement of remotest mind-- 

Leaves Ormus rubyless, and Ophir chill.
Else tears heap all within one clay-cold hill.

Added: on July 6th, 2005 at 4:01 PM | Viewed: 4804 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Hart Crane (Hart Crane Art)
Poem: To Emily Dickinson
Poem of the Day: Nov 2 2005

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