unnamed

by Emily Dickinson

I died for beauty, but was scarce,
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain,
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty”, I replied,
“And I for truth, – the two are one,
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.