(87) HER “Last Poems”— Poets ended, Silver perished with her tongue, Not on record bubbled other Flute, or Woman, so divine; Robin uttered half the tune— Gushed too free for the adoring, From the Anglo-Florentine. Late the praise— ’T is dull conferring On a Head too high to crown, Diadem or Ducal showing, Be its Grave sufficient sign. Yet if we, no Poet’s Kinsman, Suffocate with easy woe, What and if ourself a Bridegroom, Put Her down, in Italy?
-Emily Dickinson