An Emily Dickinson Poem

The lonesome for they know not What --
The Eastern Exiles -- be --
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday --

And ever since -- the purple Moat
They strive to climb -- in vain --
As Birds -- that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain --

The Blessed Ether -- taught them --
Some Transatlantic Morn --
When Heaven -- was too common -- to miss --
Too sure -- to dote upon!