Emily Dickinson Poems

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A poor -- torn heart -- a tattered heart --
That sat it down to rest --
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West --
Nor noticed Night did soft descend --
Nor Constellation burn --
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels -- happening that way
This dusty heart espied --
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God --
There -- sandals for the Barefoot --
There -- gathered from the gales --
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.

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