Victory comes late --

written by

Emily Dickinson

Victory comes late --
And is held low to freezing lips --
Too rapt with frost
To take it --
How sweet it would have tasted --
Just a Drop --
Was God so economical?
His Table's spread too high for Us --
Unless We dine on tiptoe --
Crumbs -- fit such little mouths --
Cherries -- suit Robbins --
The Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles -- Them --
God keep His Oath to Sparrows --
Who of little Love -- know how to starve --