Dear Emily, my tears would burn your page,
But for the fire-dry line that makes them burn-
Burning my eyes, my fingers, while I turn
Singly the words that crease my heart with age.
If I could make some tortured pilgrimage
Through words or Time. or the blank pain of Doom
And kneel before you as you found your tomb,
Then I might rise to face my heritage.
Yours was an empty upland solitude
Bleached to the powder of a dying name;
The mind, lost in a word-s lost certitude
That faded as the fading footsteps came
To trace an epilogue to words grown odd
In that hard argument which led to God.
To Emily Dickinson
Yvor Winters
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Poem topics: fire, god, heart, pain, solitude, time, dear, rise, face, mind, hard, powder, lost, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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