Is It Dead—find It - Poem by Emily Dickinson

417

Is it dead—Find it—
Out of sound—Out of sight—
"Happy"? Which is wiser—
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that—
Of the low Ground?


"Homesick"? Many met it—
Even through them—This
Cannot testify—
Themself—as dumb—