I've known a Heaven like a tent To wrap its shining yards, Pluck up its stakes and disappear Without the sound of boards Or rip of nail, or carpenter, But just the miles of stare That signalize a show's retreat In North America. No trace, no figment of the thing That dazzled yesterday, No ring, no marvel; Men and feats Dissolved as utterly As birds' far navigation Discloses just a hue; A plash of oars -a gaiety, Then swallowed up to view.
Return to the Emily Dickinson library , or . . . Read the next poem; I Went to Heaven