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640 I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to— Putting up Our Life—His Porcelain— Like a Cup— Discarded of the Housewife— Quaint—or Broke— A newer Sevres pleases— Old Ones crack— I could not die—with You— For One must wait To shut the Other's Gaze down— You—could not— And I—Could I stand by And see You—freeze— Without my Right of Frost— Death's privilege? Nor could I rise—with You— Because Your Face Would put out Jesus'— That New Grace Glow plain—and foreign On my homesick Eye— Except that You than He Shone closer by— They'd judge Us—How— For You—served Heaven—You know, Or sought to— I could not— Because You saturated Sight— And I had no more Eyes For sordid excellence As Paradise And were You lost, I would be— Though My Name Rang loudest On the Heavenly fame— And were You—saved— And I—condemned to be Where You were not— That self—were Hell to Me— So We must meet apart— You there—I—here— With just the Door ajar That Oceans are—and Prayer— And that White Sustenance— Despair—
Added: 9 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 23 Sep 2018 4:19 PM | Viewed: 20082 times
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Emily Dickinson
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