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Home: Poetry: Emily
Dickinson: Victory
| VICTORY |
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a poem by Emily Dickinson
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- Victory comes late,
- And is held low to freezing
lips
- Too rapt with frost
- To take it.
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- How sweet it would have tasted,
- Just a drop!
- Was God so economical?
- His table's spread too high
for us
- Unless we dine on tip-toe.
- Crumbs fit such little mouths,
- Cherries suit robins;
- The eagle's golden breakfast
- Strangles them.
- God keeps his oath to sparrows,
- Who of little love
- Know how to starve!
BACK TO EMILY
DICKINSON INDEX
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