I BRING AN UNACCUSTOMED WINE
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
- BRING an unaccustomed wine
- To lips long parching, next to mine,
- And summon them to drink.
-
- Crackling with fever, they essay;
- I turn my brimming eyes away,
- And come next hour to look.
-
- The hands still hug the tardy glass;
- The lips I would have cooled, alas!
- Are so superfluous cold,
-
- I would as soon attempt to warm
- The bosoms where the frost has lain
- Ages beneath the mould.
-
- Some other thirsty there may be
- To whom this would have pointed me
- Had it remained to speak.
-
- And so I always bear the cup
- If, haply, mine may be the drop
- Some pilgrim thirst to slake,--
-
- If, haply, any say to me,
- "Unto the little, unto me,"
- When I at last awake.
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POEMS BY EMILY DICKINSON |
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