|DELAYED till she had ceased to know,|
|Delayed till in its vest of snow|
|Her loving bosom lay.|
|An hour behind the fleeting breath,|
|Later by just an hour than death,—||5|
|Oh, lagging yesterday!|
|Could she have guessed that it would be;|
|Could but a crier of the glee|
|Have climbed the distant hill;|
|Had not the bliss so slow a pace,—||10|
|Who knows but this surrendered face|
|Were undefeated still?|
|Oh, if there may departing be|
|Any forgot by victory|
|In her imperial round,||15|
|Show them this meek apparelled thing,|
|That could not stop to be a king,|
|Doubtful if it be crowned!|
|This is emily dickinson as a younger girl..|
How does this poem make you feel?!
This poem seems like its talking about a failed attempt at something in life. perhaps even someone. im not really sure how it makes me feel, how does it make you feel? Maybe even referencing not being appreciated until its too late?!
The Word of the day IS!@!!!!
uxorious\ uk-SOR-ee-us; ug-ZOR- \ , adjective;
Excessively fond of or submissive to a wife.