| I cannot live with You -- |
| It would be Life -- |
| And Life is over there -- |
| Behind the Shelf |
|
| The Sexton keeps the Key to -- |
| Putting up |
| Our Life -- His Porcelain -- |
| Like a Cup -- |
|
| Discarded of the Housewife -- |
| Quaint -- or Broke -- |
| A newer Sevres pleases -- |
| Old Ones crack -- |
|
| I could not die -- with You -- |
| For One must wait |
| To shut the Other's Gaze down -- |
| You -- could not -- |
|
| And I -- Could I stand by |
| And see You -- freeze -- |
| Without my Right of Frost -- |
| Death's privilege? |
|
| Nor could I rise -- with You -- |
| Because Your Face |
| Would put out Jesus' -- |
| That New Grace |
|
| Grow plain -- and foreign |
| On my homesick Eye -- |
| Except that You and He |
| Shone closer by -- |
|
| They'd judge Us -- How -- |
| For You -- served Heaven -- You know, |
| Or sought to -- |
| I could not -- |
|
| Because You saturated Sight -- |
| And I had no more Eyes |
| For sordid excellence |
| As Paradise |
|
| And were You lost, I would be -- |
| Though My Name |
| Rang loudest |
| On the Heavenly fame -- |
|
| And were You -- saved -- |
| And I -- condemned to be |
| Where You were not -- |
| That self -- were Hell to Me -- |
|
| So We must meet apart -- |
| You there -- I -- here -- |
| With just the Door ajar |
| That Oceans are -- and Prayer -- |
| And that White Sustenance -- |
| Despair -- |
Emily Dickinson