Explore "Too Late" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Delayed till she had ceased to know, / Delayed till in its vest of snow / Her loving bosom lay. / An hour behind the fleeting breath, / Later by just an hour than death, -- / Oh, lagging yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be; / Could but a crier of the glee / Have climbed the distant hill; / Had not the bliss so slow a pace, -- / Who knows but this surrendered face / Were undefeated still?
Oh, if there may departing be / Any forgot by victory / In her imperial round, / Show them this meek apparelled thing, / That could not stop to be a king, / Doubtful if it be crowned!