When I Was Small, a Woman Died, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

When I Was Small, a Woman Died

596

When I was small, a Woman died—

Today—her Only Boy

Went up from the Potomac—

His face all Victory

To look at her—How slowly

The Seasons must have turned

Till Bullets clipt an Angle

And He passed quickly round—

If pride shall be in Paradise—

Ourself cannot decide—

Of their imperial Conduct—

No person testified—

But, proud in Apparition—

That Woman and her Boy

Pass back and forth, before my Brain

As even in the sky—

I’m confident that Bravoes—

Perpetual break abroad

For Braveries, remote as this

In Scarlet Maryland—

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Emily Dickinson

When I Was Small, a Woman Died

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