Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father’s lodge
As much abasheth me.
Of life? ‘T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity’s decree.
Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!
Credits
Emily Dickinson was a 19th-century American poet now considered one of the most original voices in English literature, though she published very little during her lifetime. This poem reflects her lifelong preoccupation with death and immortality, themes she approached not with dread but with probing, often subversive curiosity. The image of death as a humble "porter" at her father's lodge is a characteristically Dickinsonian move — domesticating the infinite.
