690 <br /> <br />Victory comes late— <br />And is held low to freezing lips— <br />Too rapt with frost <br />To take it— <br />How sweet it would have tasted— <br />Just a Drop— <br />Was God so economical? <br />His Table's spread too high for Us— <br />Unless We dine on tiptoe— <br />Crumbs—fit such little mouths— <br />Cherries—suit Robbins— <br />The Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles—Them— <br />God keep His Oath to Sparrows— <br />Who of little Love—know how to starve—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/victory-comes-late/
