E. DICKINSON (1862)

I know it's been a long time, and even now - I have no thoughts of my own to share, but instead a poem that I found, and love:

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 - Themself 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-