Explore "I Bring an Unaccustomed Wine" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I bring an unaccustomed wine / To lips long parching, next to mine, / And summon them to drink.
Crackling with fever, they essay; / I turn my brimming eyes away, / And come next hour to look.
The hands still hug the tardy glass; / The lips I would have cooled, alas!
Are so superfluous cold,
I would as soon attempt to warm / The bosoms where the frost has lain / Ages beneath the mould.
Some other thirsty there may be / To whom this would have pointed me / Had it remained to speak.
And so I always bear the cup / If, haply, mine may be the drop / Some pilgrim thirst to slake, --
If, haply, any say to me, / "Unto the little, unto me," / When I at last awake.