The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed —
His Advocate — his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity —
Above him is the sky —
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.
(Emily Dickinson)
More Poetry from Emily Dickinson:
- Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Sic transit gloria mundi (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- I cannot live with You (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- The Wind begun to knead the Grass (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- One Year ago-jots what? (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Your Riches - taugh (Emily Dickinson Poems)