169 <br /> <br />In Ebon Box, when years have flown <br />To reverently peer, <br />Wiping away the velvet dust <br />Summers have sprinkled there! <br /> <br />To hold a letter to the light— <br />Grown Tawny now, with time— <br />To con the faded syllables <br />That quickened us like Wine! <br /> <br />Perhaps a Flower's shrivelled check <br />Among its stores to find— <br />Plucked far away, some morning— <br />By gallant—mouldering hand! <br /> <br />A curl, perhaps, from foreheads <br />Our Constancy forgot— <br />Perhaps, an Antique trinket— <br />In vanished fashions set! <br /> <br />And then to lay them quiet back— <br />And go about its care— <br />As if the little Ebon Box <br />Were none of our affair!<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-ebon-box-when-years-have-flown/
