Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/At leisure is the Soul
AT leisure is the Soul
That gets a staggering blow;
The width of Life
Before it spreads
Without a thing to do.
That gets a staggering blow;
The width of Life
Before it spreads
Without a thing to do.
It begs you give it work,
But just the placing pins—
Or humblest patchwork
Children do—
To help its vacant hands.
But just the placing pins—
Or humblest patchwork
Children do—
To help its vacant hands.