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Contents > Author > Emily Dickinson > I think just how my shape will rise-- 1830- 1886
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Emily Dickinson
I think just how my shape will rise--
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I think just how my shape will rise --
When I shall be "forgiven" --
Till Hair -- and Eyes -- and timid Head --
Are out of sight -- in Heaven --

I think just how my lips will weigh --
With shapeless -- quivering -- prayer --
That you -- so late -- "Consider" me --
The "Sparrow" of your Care --

I mind me that of Anguish -- sent --
Some drifts were moved away --
Before my simple bosom -- broke --
And why not this -- if they?

And so I con that thing -- "forgiven" --
Until -- delirious -- borne --
By my long bright -- and longer -- trust --
I drop my Heart -- unshriven!
 

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