Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

This was a Poet—It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings—
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door—
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it—before—

Of Pictures, the Discloser—
The Poet—it is He—
Entitles Us—by Contrast—
To ceaseless Poverty—

Of Portion—so unconscious—
The Robbing—could not harm —
Himself—to Him—a Fortune—
Exterior—to Time—

1. A Service of Song
2. Love’s Baptism
3. Psalm of the Day
4. To Fight Aloud Is Very Brave
5. If You Were Coming in the Fall

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