I think just how my shape will rise
Emily Dickinson
1830 to 1886
I think just how my shape will rise
When I shall be forgiven,
Till hair and eyes and timid head
Are out of sight, in heaven.
I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late, consider me,
The sparrow of your care.
I mind me that of anguish sent,
Some drifts were moved away
Before my simple bosom broke, —
And why not this, if they?
And so, until delirious borne
I con that thing, — "forgiven," —
Till with long fright and longer trust
I drop my heart, unshriven!
Emily Dickinson's I think just how my shape will rise
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- Deep analysis of the poem's rhythm, structure, and emotional essence
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- Multiple revisions to ensure the arrangement honors the poet's original vision
This creative journey takes time—each composition represents hours of dedicated work to create something that deepens our connection to Emily Dickinson's words in meaningful ways.
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