Poem

Wait till the Majesty of Death

Emily Dickinson
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now! Wait till in Everlasting Robes That Democrat is dressed, Then prate about "Preferment"— And "Station," and the rest! Around this quiet Courtier Obsequious Angels wait! Full royal is his Retinue! Full purple is his state! A Lord, might dare to lift the Hat To such a Modest Clay Since that My Lord, "the Lord of Lords" Receives unblushingly!

One poem every morning.

6,130 poems from Shakespeare to Tupac. Read one a day. Save the ones that stay.
Free on the App Store.