237 <br /> <br />I think just how my shape will rise— <br />When I shall be "forgiven"— <br />Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head— <br />Are out of sight—in Heaven— <br /> <br />I think just how my lips will weigh— <br />With shapeless—quivering—prayer— <br />That you—so late—"Consider" me— <br />The "Sparrow" of your Care— <br /> <br />I mind me that of Anguish—sent— <br />Some drifts were moved away— <br />Before my simple bosom—broke— <br />And why not this—if they? <br /> <br />And so I con that thing—"forgiven"— <br />Until—delirious—borne— <br />By my long bright—and longer—trust— <br />I drop my Heart—unshriven!<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-think-just-how-my-shape-will-rise/
