Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

THE JOURNEY.

Our journey had advanced;

Our feet were almost come

To that odd fork in Being's road,

Eternity by term.

Our pace took sudden awe,

Our feet reluctant led.

Before were cities, but between,

The forest of the dead.

Retreat was out of hope, --

Behind, a sealed route,

Eternity's white flag before,

And God at every gate.