Poor--Torn Heart--A Tattered Heart, A
by: Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
A poor -- torn heart -- a tattered heart --
That sat it down to rest --
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West --
Nor noticed Night did soft descend --
Nor Constellation burn --
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.
The angels -- happening that way
This dusty heart espied --
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God --
There -- sandals for the Barefoot --
There -- gathered from the gales --
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.
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Heart, We Will Forget Him
I Have No Life But This
I Held A Jewel
I Many Times Thought
You Left Me
'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So
I Went To Thank Her
I Should Not Dare To Leave My Friend
Awake Ye Muses Nine
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