Victory Comes Late,

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 tip-toe.
Crumbs fit such little mouths,
Cherries suit robins;
The eagle's golden breakfast
Strangles them.
God keeps his oath to sparrows,
Who of little love
Know how to starve!

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Volcanoes Be In Sicily
• Emily Dickinson : Wait Till The Majesty Of Death
• Emily Dickinson : Warm In Her Hand These Accents Lie
• Emily Dickinson : Was Not Was All The Statement
• Emily Dickinson : Water Makes Many Beds
• Emily Dickinson : Water, Is Taught By Thirst
• Emily Dickinson : We Can But Follow To The Sun
• Emily Dickinson : We Cover Thee-sweet Face
• Emily Dickinson : We Do Not Know The Time We Lose-
• Emily Dickinson : We Do Not Play On Graves

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : Upon The Gallows Hung A Wretch
• Emily Dickinson : Upon His Saddle Sprung A Bird
• Emily Dickinson : Upon Concluded Lives
• Emily Dickinson : Upon A Lilac Sea
• Emily Dickinson : Up Life's Hill With My My Little Bundle
• Emily Dickinson : Unworthy Of Her Breast
• Emily Dickinson : Unto The Whole-how Add?
• Emily Dickinson : Unto My Books-so Good To Turn
• Emily Dickinson : Unto Me? I Do Not Know You
• Emily Dickinson : Unto Like Story-trouble Has Enticed Me