Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part One: Life
XXVIII
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| I BRING an unaccustomed wine | |
| To lips long parching, next to mine, | |
| And summon them to drink. | |
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| Crackling with fever, they essay; | |
| I turn my brimming eyes away, | 5 |
| And come next hour to look. | |
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| The hands still hug the tardy glass; | |
| The lips I would have cooled, alas! | |
| Are so superfluous cold, | |
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| I would as soon attempt to warm | 10 |
| The bosoms where the frost has lain | |
| Ages beneath the mould. | |
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| Some other thirsty there may be | |
| To whom this would have pointed me | |
| Had it remained to speak. | 15 |
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| And so I always bear the cup | |
| If, haply, mine may be the drop | |
| Some pilgrim thirst to slake,— | |
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| If, haply, any say to me, | |
| “Unto the little, unto me,” | 20 |
| When I at last awake. | |
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