My nosegays are for Captives —
Dim — expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till Paradise.
To such, if they should whisper
Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
And I, no other prayer.
My nosegays are for Captives —
Dim — expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till Paradise.
To such, if they should whisper
Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
And I, no other prayer.
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My poetry is for patient sufferers.
Perhaps Emily’s “Nosegays” are her poems. Bringing thoughts of “morning and the more” to the aged: “dim, long-expectant eyes” & “patient til Paradise,” waiting for death.
It’s almost as if she is sympathizing with people who have depression, “the people with dim, long expectant eyes.” Also, the archaic definition of errand is a ” message that has been entrusted to one.”