poems from dickinson to emily fowler ford


Some keep the Sabbath going to Church-
I keep it, staying at Home-
With a Bobolink for a Chorister-
And an Orchard, for a Dome-

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice-
I just wear my Wings-
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton-sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman-
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last-
I'm going, all along.


thomas johnson's note on poem 324 | index to dickinson/ford poems

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Commentary copyright 1998 by Martha Nell Smith, all rights reserved
Maintained by Lara Vetter <lv26@umail.umd.edu>
Last updated on January 13, 1999