Poetry Archives

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Emily Dickinson

1749

The waters chased him as he fled,
Not daring look behind—
A billow whispered in his Ear,
“Come home with me, my friend—
My parlor is of shriven glass,
My pantry has a fish
For every palate in the Year”—
To this revolting bliss
The object floating at his side
Made no distinct reply.

Online text © 1998-2008 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

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