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322 There came a Day at Summer's full, Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the Saints, Where Resurrections—be— The Sun, as common, went abroad, The flowers, accustomed, blew, As if no soul the solstice passed That maketh all things new— The time was scarce profaned, by speech— The symbol of a word Was needless, as at Sacrament, The Wardrobe—of our Lord— Each was to each The Sealed Church, Permitted to commune this—time— Lest we too awkward show At Supper of the Lamb. The Hours slid fast—as Hours will, Clutched tight, by greedy hands— So faces on two Decks, look back, Bound to opposing lands— And so when all the time had leaked, Without external sound Each bound the Other's Crucifix— We gave no other Bond— Sufficient troth, that we shall rise— Deposed—at length, the Grave— To that new Marriage, Justified—through Calvaries of Love—
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:31 PM | Viewed: 9336 times
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Emily Dickinson
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