alone

Poem: Of Tribulation

Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White—
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank
Of Victors—designate—

All these—did conquer—
But the ones who overcame most times—
Wear nothing commoner than Snow—
No Ornament, but Palms—

Surrender—is a sort unknown—
On this superior soil—
Defeat—an outgrown Anguish—
Remembered, as the Mile

Our panting Ankle barely passed—
When Night devoured the Road—
But we—stood whispering in the House—
And all we said—was "Saved"!

Emily Dickinson
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: Twelfth Night

    It has always been King Herod that I feared; King Herod and his kinsmen, ever since ... I do not like the colour of your beard; I think that you are…

  • Third Sunday in Ephiphany

    Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift! We need not wander more, but enter with our gift; Our gift of finest gold. Gold that was never…

  • Poem: Untrimming the Tree

    Now all that scintillation is a chore. What they so recently assembled Piece by piece in imitation Of every year for twenty years ago Each day…

Again, proof that Emily Dickinson is just, or was just, so bloody clever!
I didn't pick it out for this date on purpose, but in retrospect it seems pretty appropriate....