There is a word Which bears a sword can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables, -- At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman! Time's sublimest target Is a soul "forgot"!
Return to the Emily Dickinson library , or . . . Read the next poem; There's a Certain Slant of Light