Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XIII

 The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands. 
 He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away. 
 Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea, - Obedient to the least command Thine eyes impose on me.