Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Four: Time and Eternity 80. I think just how my shape will rise

I think just how my shape will rise

When I shall be forgiven,

Till hair and eyes and timid head

Are out of sight, in heaven.

I think just how my lips will weigh

With shapeless, quivering prayer

That you, so late, consider me,

The sparrow of your care.

I mind me that of anguish sent,

Some drifts were moved away

Before my simple bosom broke, --

And why not this, if they?

And so, until delirious borne

I con that thing, -- "forgiven," --

Till with long fright and longer trust

I drop my heart, unshriven!