To know just how He suffered—would be dear Emily Dickinson
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To know just how He suffered—would be dear
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze
Until it settle broad—on Paradise
To know if He was patient—part content
Was Dying as He thought—or different
Was it a pleasant Day to die
And did the Sunshine face his way
What was His furthest mind—Of Home—or God
Or what the Distant say
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day
And Wishes—Had He Any
Just His Sigh—Accented
Had been legible—to Me
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out—in Everlasting Well
And if He spoke—What name was Best
What last
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest
To know just how He suffered—would be dear
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze
Until it settle broad—on Paradise
To know if He was patient—part content
Was Dying as He thought—or different
Was it a pleasant Day to die
And did the Sunshine face his way
What was His furthest mind—Of Home—or God
Or what the Distant say
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day
And Wishes—Had He Any
Just His Sigh—Accented
Had been legible—to Me
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out—in Everlasting Well
And if He spoke—What name was Best
What last
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest
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