Love can do all but raise the Dead
I doubt if even that
From such a giant were withheld
Were flesh equivalent
But love is tired and must sleep,
And hungry and must graze
And so abets the shining Fleet
Till it is out of gaze.
Love can do all but raise the Dead
I doubt if even that
From such a giant were withheld
Were flesh equivalent
But love is tired and must sleep,
And hungry and must graze
And so abets the shining Fleet
Till it is out of gaze.
© Emily Dickinson