The Wanderer

What is she like?

I was told –

she is a melancholy soul.

 

She is like

the sun to the night;

a momentary gold.

 

A star when dimmed

by dawning light;

the flicker of a candle blown.

 

A lonely kite

kept lost in flight –

someone once had flown.

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Emily Dickinson

” To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The cavalry of woe.

Who win, and nations do not see,
Who fall, and none observe,
Whose dying eyes no country
Regards with patriot love.

We trust, in plumed procession,
For such the angels go,
Rank after rank, with even feet
And uniforms of snow.”