Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 Three weeks passed since I had seen her, -   Some disease had vexed; 'T was with text and village singing   I beheld her next, 
 And a company - our pleasure   To discourse alone; Gracious now to me as any,   Gracious unto none. 
 Borne, without dissent of either,   To the parish night; Of the separated people   Which are out of sight?