I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed ?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, — the two are one ;
We brethren are," he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
I have to confess to not having read a lot of Emily Dickinson, despite her huge influence on other poets I did - and do - read. In my earlier poetry reading years I found her syntax and use of capitalisation stilted and was further put off by quite so many references to Death and God. However, I've decided that I need to start looking more closely at her work, so this is my first foray. Although this poem is certainly about death, it's a journey that's shared by a kinsman and is accompanied by soft talk until moss, a benign presence, stops both talk and separate identity. I like it.
Click here to go to the Tuesday Poem Blog and find other Tuesday poems.