Death's Waylaying Not The Sharpest

Emily Dickinson

1296

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Of the thefts of Time—
There Marauds a sorer Robber,
Silence—is his name—
No Assault, nor any Menace
Doth betoken him.
But from Life’s consummate Cluster—
He supplants the Balm.

Next 10 Poems

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• Emily Dickinson : Delayed Till She Had Ceased To Know
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• Emily Dickinson : Delight Is As The Flight
• Emily Dickinson : Delight's Despair At Setting
• Emily Dickinson : Denial-is The Only Fact
• Emily Dickinson : Departed To The Judgment
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• Emily Dickinson : Despair's Advantage Is Achieved

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• Emily Dickinson : Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?