by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < The Inevitable
The Juggler of Day > > >
The Journey
Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being’s road,
Eternity by term.
Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.
Retreat was out of hope, —
Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity’s white flag before,
And God at every gate.
< < < The Inevitable
The Juggler of Day > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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