1209

To disappear enhances—
The Man that runs away
Is tinctured for an instant
With Immortality

But yesterday a Vagrant—
Today in Memory lain
With superstitious value
We tamper with “Again”

But “Never” far as Honor
Withdraws the Worthless thing
And impotent to cherish
We hasten to adorn—

Of Death the sternest function
That just as we discern
The Excellence defies us—
Securest gathered then

The Fruit perverse to plucking,
But leaning to the Sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight—

1065

Let down the Bars, Oh Death—
The tired Flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat
Whose wandering is done—

Thine is the stillest night
Thine the securest Fold
Too near Thou art for seeking Thee
Too tender, to be told.

“Let down the bars, O Death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.

Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;”
“Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.”

-Emily Dickinson