Explore "Victory Comes Late" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Victory comes late, / And is held low to freezing lips / Too rapt with frost / To take it.
How sweet it would have tasted, / Just a drop!
Was God so economical?
His table 's spread too high for us / Unless we dine on tip-toe.
Crumbs fit such little mouths, / Cherries suit robins; / The eagle's golden breakfast / Strangles them.
God keeps his oath to sparrows, / Who of little love / Know how to starve!