A poor torn heart — a tattered heart-
That sat it down to rest-
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West-
Nor noticed Night did soft descend-
Nor Constellation burn-
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels happening that way
This dusty heart espied-
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God-
There sandals for the Barefoot-
There gathered from the gales-
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.
Love Poem by Emily Dickinson

He ate and drank the precious Words,
his Spirit grew robust; He knew no
more that he was poor,
nor that his frame was Dust.
- Emily Dickinson

Broken Heart
Love Poems
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ROMANTIC
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