Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete
img img Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete img Chapter 140 No.140
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Chapter 140 No.140

Victory comes late,

And is held low to freezing lips

Too rapt with frost

To take it.

How sweet it would have tasted,

Just a drop!

Was God so economical?

His table 's spread too high for us

Unless we dine on tip-toe.

Crumbs fit such little mouths,

Cherries suit robins;

The eagle's golden breakfast

Strangles them.

            
            

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