Emily Dickinson

Although I put away his life

366 Although I put away his life — An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear, This might have been the Hand That sowed the flower, he preferred — Or smoothed a homely pain, Or pushed the pebble from his path — Or played his chosen tune — On Lute the least — the latest — But just his Ear could know That whatsoe'er delighted it, I never would let go — The foot to bear his errand — A little Boot I know — Would leap abroad like Antelope — With just the grant to do — His weariest Commandment — A sweeter to obey, Than "Hide and Seek" — Or skip to Flutes — Or all Day, chase the Bee — Your Servant, Sir, will weary — The Surgeon, will not come — The World, will have its own — to do — The Dust, will vex your Fame — The Cold will force your tightest door Some February Day, But say my apron bring the sticks To make your Cottage gay — That I may take that promise To Paradise, with me — To teach the Angels, avarice, You, Sir, taught first — to me.