Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.
Part Three: LoveXXXVIII
O
So larger to my eyes
That I stopped gauging, satisfied,
For this enchanted size.
The focus of my prayer,—
A perfect, paralyzing bliss
Contented as despair.
Phantasms both become,
For this new value in the soul,
Supremest earthly sum.
Obscured with ruddier hue.
Life’s latitude leant over-full;
The judgment perished, too.
Why Paradise defer,
Why floods are served to us in bowls,—
I speculate no more.