Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

Victory Comes Late - Poem by Emily Dickinson

690

Victory comes late—
And is held low to freezing lips—
Too rapt with frost
To take it—
How sweet it would have tasted—
Just a Drop—
Was God so economical?
His Table's spread too high for Us—
Unless We dine on tiptoe—
Crumbs—fit such little mouths—
Cherries—suit Robbins—
The Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles—Them—
God keep His Oath to Sparrows—
Who of little Love—know how to starve—


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Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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