366 <br /> <br />Although I put away his life— <br />An Ornament too grand <br />For Forehead low as mine, to wear, <br />This might have been the Hand <br /> <br />That sowed the flower, he preferred— <br />Or smoothed a homely pain, <br />Or pushed the pebble from his path— <br />Or played his chosen tune— <br /> <br />On Lute the least—the latest— <br />But just his Ear could know <br />That whatsoe'er delighted it, <br />I never would let go— <br /> <br />The foot to bear his errand— <br />A little Boot I know— <br />Would leap abroad like Antelope— <br />With just the grant to do— <br /> <br />His weariest Commandment— <br />A sweeter to obey, <br />Than "Hide and Seek"— <br />Or skip to Flutes— <br />Or all Day, chase the Bee— <br /> <br />Your Servant, Sir, will weary— <br />The Surgeon, will not come— <br />The World, will have its own—to do— <br />The Dust, will vex your Fame— <br /> <br />The Cold will force your tightest door <br />Some February Day, <br />But say my apron bring the sticks <br />To make your Cottage gay— <br /> <br />That I may take that promise <br />To Paradise, with me— <br />To teach the Angels, avarice, <br />You, Sir, taught first—to me.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/although-i-put-away-his-life/
