Explore "Along the Potomac" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When I was small, a woman died. / To-day her only boy / Went up from the Potomac, / His face all victory,
To look at her; how slowly / The seasons must have turned / Till bullets clipt an angle, / And he passed quickly round!
If pride shall be in Paradise / I never can decide; / Of their imperial conduct, / No person testified.
But proud in apparition, / That woman and her boy / Pass back and forth before my brain, / As ever in the sky.