Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/Although I put away his life,

​
Although I put away his life,An ornament too grandFor forehead low as mine to wear,This might have been the hand
That sowed the flowers he preferred,Or smoothed a homely pain—Or pushed the pebble from his path,Or played his chosen tune
On lute the least, the latest,But just his ear could knowThat what soe'er delighted itI never would let go.
The foot to bear his errandA little boot I knowWould leap abroad like antelopeWith just the grant to do.
His weariest commandmentA sweeter to obeyThan "Hide and Seek", or skip to flutes,Or all day chase the bee.
Your servant, Sir, will weary,The surgeon will not come,The world will have its own to do,The dust will vex your fame.
​
The cold will force your tightest doorSome February day,But say my apron brings the sticksTo make your cottage gay,
That I may take that promiseTo Paradise with me—To teach the angels avariceYour kiss first taught to me!
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.