Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Four: Time and Eternity 100. 'T is whiter than an Indian pipe


'T is whiter than an Indian pipe,

'T is dimmer than a lace;

No stature has it, like a fog,

When you approach the place.

Not any voice denotes it here,

Or intimates it there;

A spirit, how doth it accost?

What customs hath the air?

This limitless hyperbole

Each one of us shall be;

'T is drama, if (hypothesis)

It be not tragedy!