Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part One: Life 117. I have a king who does not speak

I have a king who does not speak;

So, wondering, thro' the hours meek

I trudge the day away,--

Half glad when it is night and sleep,

If, haply, thro' a dream to peep

In parlors shut by day.

And if I do, when morning comes,

It is as if a hundred drums

Did round my pillow roll,

And shouts fill all my childish sky,

And bells keep saying 'victory'

From steeples in my soul!

And if I don't, the little Bird

Within the Orchard is not heard,

And I omit to pray,

'Father, thy will be done' to-day,

For my will goes the other way,

And it were perjury!