could I stand by And see You

I cannot live with You—

It would be Life—

And Life is over there—

Behind the Shelf 

 

The Sexton keeps the key to—

Putting up 

Our Life—His Porcelain—

Like a Cup—

 

Discarded of the Housewife—

Quaint—or Broke—

A newer Sevres pleases—

Old Ones crack—

 

I could not die—with You—

For One must wait 

To shut the Other's Gaze down—

You—could not—

 

And I—Could I stand by 

And see You—freeze— 

Without my Right of Frost—

Death's privilege? 

 

Nor could I rise—with You—

Because Your Face 

Would put out Jesus'—

That New Grace 

 

Glow plain—and foreign 

On my homesick eye—

Except that You than He 

Shone closer by—

 

They'd judge Us—How—

For You—served Heaven—You know, 

Or sought to—

I could not—

 

Because You saturated sight—

And I had no more eyes 

For sordid excellence 

As Paradise 

 

And were You lost, I would be—

Though my name 

Rang loudest 

On the Heavenly fame—

 

And were You—saved—

And I—condemned to be 

Where You were not 

That self—were Hell to me—

 

So we must meet apart—

You there—I—here—

With just the Door ajar 

That Oceans are—and Prayer—

And that White Sustenance—

Despair— 

 

[Emily Dickinson {1830-1886} 'I Cannot Live with You' (no. 640), from The Mind has Cliffs of Fall: Poems at the extremes of feeling]