I think just how my shape will rise

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& mdash;delirious—borne—
By my long bright—and longer—trust—
I drop my Heart—unshriven!

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. more…

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"I think just how my shape will rise by Emily Dickinson" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 17 Jan. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/11818>.

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