What Twigs We held by --
What Twigs We held by --
Oh the View
When Life's swift River striven through
We pause before a further plunge
To take Momentum --
As the Fringe
Upon a former Garment shows
The Garment cast,
Our Props disclose
So scant, so eminently small
Of Might to help, so pitiful
To sink, if We had labored, fond
The diligence were not more blind
How scant, by everlasting Light
The Discs that satisfied Our Sight --
How dimmer than a Saturn's Bar
The Things esteemed, for Things that are!
Poem by
Emily Dickinson
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