I do know Emily Dickinson's poem "We play at Paste" - but I haven't
consciously thought of it until you were kind enough to remind me of it.
Perhaps it was in my mind as I wrote the poem. I did deliberately allude to
the closing lines of a Dickinson poem ("I died for beauty") in my January
2005 poem "Weak As Roses: Wherein The Most Transparent Deception Is Yet A
Cipher Undaunted":harmonious unforgivingness! thousands had done worse to all that slender name, Virginia, may they go in flutters, furious, furious they as my whipped crave and, clanking, clanking, themselves die, w/ "farewell, descended thee!, farewell, we cherished the clay, smiled at the marble" their clamorously strewn hour has, since, empurpled the path - "O din fade, fade!" above the name is this scene? this scene of harmonious unforgivingness? my heart an owl? enough!, the littlest mouth's moss relents, and unanxious silver falls in drifty spheres - "obey, books, Blue and the Patient, leave off twitching Virginia's pale understandments, until, thirdly and finally, moss cinches all our lips and o'erbalances that slender name..." Here's 449: 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.
