Poems — Second Series by Emily Dickinson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Mabel Loomis Todd

As by the Dead We Love to Sit

As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear, As for the lost we grapple, Though all the rest are here, —

In broken mathematics We estimate our prize, Vast, in its fading ratio, To our penurious eyes!

Previous: Some, Too Fragile for Winter Winds

Next: Death Sets a Thing Significant