7 <br /> <br />The feet of people walking home <br />With gayer sandals go— <br />The Crocus— til she rises <br />The Vassal of the snow— <br />The lips at Hallelujah <br />Long years of practise bore <br />Til bye and bye these Bargemen <br />Walked singing on the shore. <br /> <br />Pearls are the Diver's farthings <br />Extorted from the Sea— <br />Pinions— the Seraph's wagon <br />Pedestrian once— as we— <br />Night is the morning's Canvas <br />Larceny— legacy— <br />Death, but our rapt attention <br />To Immortality. <br /> <br />My figures fail to tell me <br />How far the Village lies— <br />Whose peasants are the Angels— <br />Whose Cantons dot the skies— <br />My Classics veil their faces— <br />My faith that Dark adores— <br />Which from its solemn abbeys <br />Such ressurection pours.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-feet-of-people-walking-home/
