For This—accepted Breath - Poem by Emily Dickinson
For this—accepted Breath—
Through it—compete with Death—
The fellow cannot touch this Crown—
By it—my title take—
Ah, what a royal sake
To my necessity—stooped down!
No Wilderness—can be
Where this attendeth me—
No Desert Noon—
No fear of frost to come
Haunt the perennial bloom—
But Certain June!
Get Gabriel—to tell—the royal syllable—
Get Saints—with new—unsteady tongue—
To say what trance below
Most like their glory show—
Fittest the Crown!
Comments about For This—accepted Breath by Emily Dickinson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.