XXII and XXXII
Seen @ be_themoon . When you see this, post a poem in your journal.
As I only like one poet, Emily Dickinson, and her poems are short - have two.
XXII
THE BUSTLE in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,-
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
XXXII
IT WAS too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.
How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!
As I only like one poet, Emily Dickinson, and her poems are short - have two.
XXII
THE BUSTLE in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,-
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
XXXII
IT WAS too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.
How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!